


Crash into You

by jenipottinger



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Multi, Slow Burn, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7422064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenipottinger/pseuds/jenipottinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the months after Jo's death and Elena's sacrifice, Bonnie Bennett struggles with her identity in the wake of all this change. So used to being the protector, the warrior, and the martyr for those around her, Bonnie finds it difficult to fall back into that role without the heart of the group intact. </p><p>Damon, on the other hand, is completely lost without Elena working as his moral compass. Falling back into bad habits of the past, Damon is a wreckage just begging to be saved.</p><p>But Bonnie Bennett is no saviour, not anymore.<br/>And Damon Salvatore is nothing to be protected.</p><p>Through the brewing evils that lay in the belly of Mystic Falls, biding their time until they rear their ugly heads, the relationship between Damon and Bonnie formed so long ago in the prison world is solidified, torn apart, and thrown back together again at every turn. With their roles turned upside down and occasionally reversed, Bonnie and Damon find themselves—and perhaps each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once Upon A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all, just wanted to clarify that everything up until the Season 7 premiere is canon in this fic! 
> 
> Also please no ship wars, I don't exactly know where I'm going with this other than that I want to explore the dynamics of Bonnie and Damon's relationship and their relationship with the things around them! That being said, please feel free to leave comments or questions on any and all chapters!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Cheers
> 
> -Jeni

_...her feet sink into soft black dirt and the wind flirts with the hem of the grey flannel she hadn't realized she was wearing. As if for the first time, Bonnie tilts her gaze up to the opaque night sky flecked with tiny jewels of white, hot light. The breeze comes again and lifts a few stray strands of her short hair and sends them dancing a slow, lonely waltz around her face. Bonnie shivers and hugs her shoulders and when the air only grows colder she turns on her sinking sandals in the hopes of finding some small reprieve and spots a forest of chocolate brown bark and lush, leafy treetops that disappear into an ominous black fog too dark and too complete to question out loud…_

_After a moment's hesitation she moves towards the wood._

_She is cajoled by the robotic buzz of crickets and the soft ground parting under her footfall. The crisp air pinches her neck, her elbows, and the caramel flesh exposed by her jean shorts._

_Somewhere, an owl shrieks._

_Bonnie sets one foot on the forest floor. The firmness of the ground beneath her comes as a surprise. A low growl stirs from within the woods. Goosebumps rise on her skin. The unmistakable metallic scent of fresh blood fills her nostrils and Bonnie presses a shaking palm against the solid trunk of an oak tree. The ear-splitting crack of breaking bone sends a jolt of panic up Bonnie's spine and to her brain and demands that she pick: fight or flight._

_Bonnie rotates on her heel, intends to move away from the forest, but is pinned in place by an unearthly wind that circles like a twister and carves a trench into the ground around her. Dead grass, loose dirt clods, and fallen leaves ride the gust of icy air and relentlessly pelt her flesh and leave her dumb, deaf, and blind._

_She ducks her head into the nest of her curved arms to protect her eyes from the aggressive spray of debris. The direction she aims to move in, the direction she cannot see, is obstructed by a wall of air that steals the noise from her screams._

_Her limbs are lead and she turns back to the forest and she pushes through the invisible barrier and her sandals slap against the hard earth of the forest floor as she sprints forward and into the darkness…_

_…over exposed roots, narrowly skirting the forest's quiet silver boulders, receiving lash after lash from the prickly branches to her face and neck. Her flannel bears signs of the assault on her senses and the torn fabric slides down her brown shoulders like a pashmina shawl.  The ominous wind follows her and scoops up her ankles and she increases her speed and makes a sharp turn around a twisted trunk and half a second later she hears that same trunk pulled forcefully from its home like a rotting tooth._

_The inky black oasis lies just a dozen feet beyond her. As she moves closer she sees that it's not the smoky fog she'd believed; the darkness is solid, impenetrable, pure._

_The tempest nipping Bonnie's heels lets up just as the guttural snarl she'd heard earlier sounds again, mean and hungry and animal. Hot breath tickles the back of her neck and white-hot panic shoots up her spine. She flings herself into the dark…_

_...and she is falling through air and space and blackness so dense she cannot tell if her eyes are opened or closed and the air freezes her overworked lungs and her heartbeat slows to a dull thud like stones being dropped into a lake and Bonnie only knows she's alive by the lone owl's mournful call that almost seems to be a warning sounding too late…_

_The excruciating eternity of her fall is shoved into the space of a few seconds, and when Bonnie passes through it her hand is already attached to a cold, brass knob and she pushes the stuck door open with an agonized cry and slams the heavy wood closed once more._

_Bonnie scans her surroundings. A strange sense of familiarity hums in her chest. The gleaming wood surfaces, the muted green area rug, and the wide, brick fireplace already crackling with heat tickle some part of her brain she can’t access._

_Bonnie shivers and crouches while rubbing her hands together in the golden heat emanating from the mouth of the fireplace. The flickers of the flames dance in her eyes. The place around her begs to be remembered. The air grows thick and muggy, and with furrowed brows Bonnie reaches for the silver pail next to the fireplace. Water sloshes over the sides and onto the wood floor. She douses the fire with what remains._

_She frowns at the soggy log. She tries to remember what she was thinking of before, what she was doing or about to do._

_"Your magic acting up or something?"_

_Bonnie whips her head around and jerks up._

_Clad in a smart, black tux with his dark brown hair slicked back, Jeremy Gilbert's mouth parts in an easy grin. Without a moment's hesitation, Bonnie closes the distance between the two of them and leaps up into his arms. He laughs and tightens his grip on her waist. The sound and smell of him has Bonnie laughing, squeezing hard._

_"What are you doing here?" Bonnie chuckles, tucking her legs at the knees._

_"You didn't think I'd miss Ric's wedding, did you?" Jeremy raises a brow and lowers Bonnie to the ground._

_Bonnie looks around again._

_She and Jeremy are standing on the wooden platform in the pretty little farm where Jo and Ric decided to say their vows and the intricate panes of square and rectangular glass stand behind Jeremy in the thick, wooden walls and the night sky is the colour of a ripe plum, with the luminescent yellow moon sitting fractured in the upper right, outshining the tinkling chandelier above._

_Bonnie looks towards the fireplace, but instead sees row upon row of the delicate dining chairs Jo decided on and she has to note that the pale wood and ivory cushions with the lovely floral arrangements on the end chairs to line the aisle fit the farm and the couple more than the thick, brown, wood of church pews._

_"No, I guess not..." Bonnie mutters the words, eyes still raking over the farm._

_When had she gotten here, she wondered. When had Jeremy?_

_Hadn't she just been…?_

_"You look good, Bon," Jeremy's smooth voice cuts through her warped thoughts._

_She looks down and sees that she's wearing her bridesmaids' dress; the smoky mauve material clings at the bust, gathers at the bodice, and hangs loose at the skirt. The glittery silver stilettos put her three-and-a-half inches taller than usual but Jeremy still towers over her. The growth spurt that had killed any chance of Jeremy Gilbert living in her memory as "Elena's kid brother" had been complimented nicely by his lifestyle. He'd bulked up during their relationship, had maintained it, it seemed._

_Not that she cared._

_"Jer..." Bonnie starts and folds her arms over her chest. She turns her head towards the aisle, away from him and the wounded puppy look in his eyes._

_"I fucked up, Bon," Jeremy says._

_The words are harsh enough to bring Bonnie's gaze back to his._

_He tucks his hands in his pockets and steps closer._

_"I should've come back for you," he shakes his head slowly. Bonnie hears the dull tin of regret in his voice._

_"It's too late now."_

_"Don't say that." His eyes gloss over and his hands escape the comfort of his pockets and reach for her hips.  "I was an idiot, and I thought it would be better for us—for both of us—to move on. But the second you and Damon came back I should've dropped everything and come home."_

_"Jeremy, I don't have time to—" The exhaustion in Bonnie's voice fades in an instant. She snaps her gaze right to Jeremy's. "Damon?"_

_Something was wrong._

_Laced with suspicion, Bonnie steps back again. "Where is he?"_

_"What are you talking about?" Jeremy tilts his head towards her in confusion. He shrugs, "He's with Elena."_

_"Where's Elena?"_

_"Taking a nap."_

_"I want to see her."_

_"You can't see her." Pause. "You know that."_

_"Please?"_

_Bonnie's voice breaks._

_Tears roll down her cheeks._

_Something was wrong with Elena._

_Somehow, it was her fault._

_"Come here, you're shaking." Jeremy doesn't wait for a response. He pulls Bonnie into his arms with one, slow tug._

_Bonnie lays her cheek against the lapel of his suit and hooks her arms under his armpits and holds fast to the curve of his shoulders. She closes her eyes, breathes in deep, and shudders out a sigh._

_Hands crisscross behind her waist and cup her hips._

_Warm lips press against her hair._

_She snuggles deeper and the panic fades into a gentle hum beneath her rib cage._

_"I'm scared," she thumbs away a tear and whispers into the satin lapel of his suit._

_It felt good to say out loud._

_"Don't be scared," he tells her.  He hushes her, runs a hand up her hip, and traces her jaw with a knuckle. " Don't be scared. It's almost over."_

_The crooning comfort in his voice sounded wrong, especially spread over those words._

_"Wha—?" Bonnie pulls back to look at Jeremy._

_Kai Parker stands in his place._

_Bonnie’s heart tightens in her chest then drops deep into her stomach. Her hands rest mere inches from the clone of the self-satisfied smirk she remembers from her agonizing months in the prison world. She turns in his grasp and bolts right._

_“Oh no you don’t!” He chuckles sharply, belts his arms around her upper body, and yanks her against him. His grip tightens and she yelps as the force of his arms nearly crushes her bones. He leans down into the bear hug while she cries out._

_With frenzy, Bonnie attempts to shake him off as she sends wave after wave of tiny neurotic fissures through his brain. He winces and loosens his grip, a groan of agony falling from his open mouth. She breaks the cage of his arms with hers. Bonnie tries to seize her small window and put some distance between Kai and herself, eyes focused on the exit at the other end of the long aisle._

_His groan turns into a guffaw. He shakes his head. Bonnie’s magic no longer cuts into him raggedly, but sinks beneath his flesh in a steady stream._

_Kai whips her around. He clasps his hands on her shoulders, laughs and the twinkling blue of his eyes turn to slivers, “You know those parlor tricks don’t work on me, Bon. But that was cute!” He looks up at the chandelier and it starts flickering in response. With a wink at Bonnie, Kai murmurs, “Thanks for the juice.”_

_“What are you doing here?” Bonnie pushes the words through clenched teeth._

_“It’s my sister’s big day, Bonnie,” Sobering, he catches her eyes, a glimmer of dark amusement in his. “C’mon. You thought I’d miss her shotgun wedding?”_

_Bonnie wriggles more, setting her jaw and letting out a grunt of effort. Kai jerks her against him, one hand in an ironclad grip on her waist and the other wrapped around the palm of her hand. Kai shuffles slowly in a simple waltz, tugging Bonnie along with him._

_He tilts his head to the side, blinks, and says brightly, “Speaking of shotguns, how do you thing Josette would feel about me emptying a couple shells into that dopey groom of hers?”_

_“Don’t you **dare** —” Bonnie’s body goes cold with sick fear._

_“Relax, Bonnie,” Kai strokes Bonnie’s hip and sends a wave of discomfort down her spine. His hand slowly moves up her side, over her chest, and to her neck. “I wouldn’t do anything to make Sis angry before she walks down the aisle.”_

_Kai’s hand, dry a moment before, sticks wetly at the base of Bonnie’s throat. She cringes and he pulls sway with an obligatory shrug. His fingers and palms are coated in ruby redness that trickles down the lifeline of his palm and past the crease of his wrist._

_Bonnie’s stomach lurches._

_“Thing is,” Kai gazes at his dripping hand, then beams at Bonnie. “I don’t think Josie’ll be making it down that aisle today—or, well, **ever**.” Kai looks over her right shoulder, nudges his head, and clucks his tongue._

_Bonnie turns._

_Jo’s sparkling blue eyes are lightless, directionless, pointless. Her mouth hangs slack-jawed, pale pink lips forming a lopsided ‘O’ at the bottom of her still face. And the miles of snow-white lace and tulle and silk are marred only by the sopping wet puddle of red that decorates her abdomen. She lays motionlessly, sprawled on the wooden platform and pushed to one side so that the glint of silver is visibly protruding from her back._

_Bonnie gasps. Her skin prickles and she yanks herself away from Kai, her heart pumping heavily in her chest. Kneeling beside Jo, she confirms what she already knows: it’s too late._

_“Do you think it’s too tacky?” Kai wonders, worry colouring his voice. “I always wanted to stab her in the back—you know, return the favour—but maybe this was too literal.” When Bonnie doesn’t reply, he just says, “Well, what’s done is done. No use crying over spilled sister.”_

_Tears pool in the lower rim of Bonnie’s eyes. Her heart tightens until she can’t breathe from the strain, her hands feathering over the impossible wound, too afraid to touch. The air thins, a breeze tickles her neck, and when she turns around, Kai is kneeling in front of her, one hand resting on each knee and a terrifying smirk settling at the corners of his mouth._

_“Bonnie,” he whispers, his grin expanding. “ **Run**.”_

_Bonnie turns away from Jo, jumps down from the platform and sees the brick of the fireplace, the green rug, and the door she came in through. She charges towards it. Her heels clack against the wood. Loose nails catch the hem of her dress. Bonnie closes in on the door._

_The knob turns._

_The night outside spits up a head of jet black hair and a faded black t-shirt that reveals two pale arms._

_Bonnie’s heart cracks with relief._

_“Damon, thank G—” she starts._

_Damon looks up. Deep scarlet fills his sclera and circles the blueness of his irises. Thick veins push against the thin flesh beneath his lower eyelids like chords and sprawl around that ivory flesh like sunrays. His hands ball into fists by his side, and the grin on his face is anything but welcoming._

_Before Bonnie can stop running into him, his mouth opens widely, reveals two large fangs, and closes in on her throat as she releases a scream that is joined by the owls…_


	2. Amsterdam Blonde

_Dear Elena,_

_Day number thirty-seven with the Broody Bunch._

_Sightseeing in Europe with these two has been a complete and total drag. Paris, Rome, and London were awful but I think it’s just gone from bad to worse._

_We’re in Amsterdam right now. Fun, right? Well, it’s not fun when your only two companions are sad and drunk. They don’t want to see or do anything, they just want to waste away at bars all day._

_Well, Damon does. Ric on the other hand…it’s like he doesn’t even notice where we are. He’s ignoring everything, including all the cute Dutch girls looking for some American fun…_

_Okay, I’m being totally insensitive, right?_

_He lost the love of his life. I know. And he should be at home grieving and trying to figure out what he’s going to do next and how to live in a world without his family. He should be coping, and dealing, and rebuilding, and spending time at home with the people that love him. The people that loved Jo. He should **not** be roaming around Europe with a cranky vampire and a Bennett witch. Believe me, I know. What I **don’t** know is how I let Damon convince me that it was a good idea to try to “get his mind off of it”. _

_And Damon._

_He’s…more Damony than usual._

_I thought we’d gotten past our issues, I thought we were on the same page, I even thought we were friends. Well, we **were** friends—a prison world will do that to you. But ever since he lost you it’s been…different. To say the least. _

_Part of me feels like he blames me for what happened. Like it’s my fault that Kai was a psychopath and that he has to wait sixty years for you to come back. Like I’m not royally pissed off that I never get to see you again at all._

_He doesn’t see me as me anymore. He sees me as the one thing between him and the girl of his dreams. Which would be fine—which would be heartbreaking but fine—if he wasn’t Damon._

_I just don’t want him to do anything stupid. But he seems determined to do just that._

_At the end of the day, Damon’s got to be Damon and I’ve got to be Bonnie._

_I just wish—_

“Bon-Bon,” Damon’s voice splits through the soft silence of her hotel room. 

Bonnie looks upwards from the bed she’s curled up on. Damon stands in the threshold leading to the hotel’s hallway. His hands rest on his hips as he smirks malevolently at her. 

“Damon,” Bonnie pushes the word out while barely opening her mouth. She closes the journal slowly and stuffs it under her pillow. 

“Get your game face on, Witchy Witch,” Damon’s icy eyes widen. He slams the door shut and strides into the room. “You’re going to track down our buddy Ric.” 

“What?” Bonnie’s brows knit together, the sharpness of her question pricking the air like a needle. 

“You need to find your magic wand, say ‘ _abracadabra_ ’, and pull Ric out of a hat, because he is headed down the rabbit hole,” Damon tugs at the curtains adorning the window by Bonnie’s bed. His eyes dart from left to right across the sun setting along the horizon outside. Absently, he returns his gaze to the hotel room and surveys the space before shifting his eyes decisively back to Bonnie. “Now would be nice.” 

“Damon, you’re going to have to forgive me, but I don’t _speak_ crazy,” Bonnie’s every word drips with tired frustration. She rises from the bed, places her hands on her hips, and gives Damon her only-slightly-interested look. “What are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about the fact that our little _buddy_ has been playing us this whole time,” The left side of Damon’s mouth turns upwards in an involuntary smirk. “I went to meet him at that bar a few blocks over, the one he said he’d be at all night? Yeah, well not only is he MIA, the bartender also tells me Ric’s been asking for _tea_ and _water_.” 

A moment of silence elapses while Damon looks at Bonnie expectantly. 

“Maybe he’s trying to sober up,” Bonnie shrugs. She bats her lashes with mock-admiration and says, “Not everyone can be drunk for as many decades as you.” 

“Cute.” He narrows his eyes at her remark. “It’s not just tonight, Bratty Bennett. It’s _every_ night. He pretends to get drunk with us—well, _me_ —and then disappears.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know, who pretends to be drunk? Alcohol and IRS newsletters are all he has left. Figures Ric would find a way to—” 

“Why does he _disappear_ , Damon?” Bonnie snaps. “Where does he go?” 

“That’s for him to know and us to find out,” Damon smirks at Bonnie. He leans against the wall next to her, waits a beat, and then says, “So get started.” 

Bonnie glares at Damon, skirts his domineering stance, and walks to the suitcase propped at the foot of her bed. She unzips the top of the case and reaches in, withdrawing a Tupperware container of dried sage. Deeper in her trunk, Bonnie feels for four tapered candles and pulls them out as well. 

She goes to the bedside table and places the lamp, telephone, and room service menu on the ground. She sets the four candles on the table in a circle, flicking her right hand and igniting the wicks. Crumbling the sage into the centre of the circle in a clockwise spiral, Bonnie utters the incantation. 

“ _ **Invictus presencia potestas.**_ ” 

Damon moves behind Bonnie, watches her fingers curl upwards and then close. The spiral of sage is disturbed by some imaginary gust of wind that lifts the flecks into the air. When they settle, they settle into a square mosaic map of crumbled sage dust. 

“What’s that?” Damon questions. 

“You don’t recognize it?” Bonnie teases. She steps back towards Damon and places her hands on her hips. “It’s Amsterdam. We’re…” Bonnie flicks her index finger upwards and one part of the sage map burns up, turning to blackened ash. “…Here. And Ric is…” Bonnie drags her index finger sharply to the right. A larger flame flares up on a section northeast of their spot, and the blackened sage glows amber around the edges. “There.” 

“Is that by the water?” Damon murmurs. 

“This whole city is by the water,” Bonnie quips. “ I think it’s near—oh no.” 

“What?” 

“An occult shop I wanted to check out tomorrow,” Bonnie turns to Damon. Her green eyes pop as she searches for the name, drawing a blank. “I don’t remember what it’s called, but I remember hearing about it through the grapevine.” 

“Ancestors?” Damon guesses. 

“Friends,” Bonnie corrects. “Living ones. Anyway, it’s supposed to be one of the best shops in the world. Northeastern Amsterdam, in one of the shadier areas of the city. It’s run by this really talented witch and she—” 

“Save your breath, Siri, and grab your coat,” Damon smirks, “We’re going on a fieldtrip.” 

  


**__________________**

  


Damon and Bonnie walk along the cobblestone path in the northeast section of the city, eyes peeled for a tall, broody, out-of-place American. The colours of the Dutch sky melt above them. Cotton-candy blue pours into deep orange and rose pink fades into yolky yellow. The sun drops slowly past the horizon, throwing thin beams of light across the water’s surface and against the docked boats. 

A beggar woman in a plaid shawl clutches the tattered material tightly to her chest and wobbles down the road. When Bonnie looks at her, she spreads her cracked lips into a wide, toothless grin and crooks her bony fingers in beckoning. Bonnie smiles thinly and turns her gaze back to the path beneath her sneakers. 

A scraggly tomcat with a partially shredded ear limps out of a rat-infested alleyway. It stops, stares, and then mews as Damon and Bonnie draw closer. 

“Here kitty, kitty,” Damon calls. His voice wavers between boredom and vindictive interest as it so often does. 

The cat, seemingly taking note of this, recoils and hisses before sprinting back into the alley at full-speed. 

“Nice.” Bonnie smirks. 

Damon frowns with his eyes on the sliver of darkness that swallowed the feline. 

“See, that is why I don’t have any pets,” Damon raises his brows and shakes his head with a weary sigh. The two of them pass the alleyway and approach another one. “Well, _that_ , and Stefan’d probably eat ‘em.” When Bonnie only gives Damon a disbelieving look, he insists, “Hey, you don’t know him like I do. Ask him about 1955.” 

“I would **so** rather not,” Bonnie shakes her head and crinkles her nose. She pokes her head forward into the alley they’re passing and then withdraws it with a sigh. “Do you hear anything?” 

“Your heartbeat, your breathing, your annoying voice…” Damon recites his list with a tight smile as Bonnie rolls her eyes and hits his arm. “And mice, and maggots, and the wind.” 

“This is where it falls apart, huh?” Bonnie wonders aloud and earns a look of confusion from Damon. “The city. The ‘Amsterdam’ experience. This is beyond its scope. Where it falls apart.” 

“Until it comes back together again,” Damon murmurs, his blue eyes fixed on something ahead of them. 

Bonnie follows his gaze. 

Wedged between two tall and crumbling buildings sits a squat, one-story shop. Its brown-grey stones gleam like washed up pebbles, as if they had been scrubbed clean only moments before Bonnie and Damon had arrived. The thatched roof that covers the rosy stone tiling gives the place the look of a cottage, not a store, but the giant sign poking out of the browning grass with 'SHOP' printed in thick, black letters is a simple and ominous clarification to the contrary. In between the two gleaming, arched windows stands a solid, oaky door with a brass knob like a dare. 

Bonnie and Damon stare at it dumbly. 

“Do we…go in?” Bonnie asks. Her voice rises an octave at the end of her question in incredulous anticipation. 

“Only if Simon says,” Damon mumbles and thumbs at the daylight ring on his left middle finger and frowns. 

Bonnie lowers her gaze to his unstill hands. 

“It’s a shop,” she gestures to the sign, “You’ll be fine, trust me.” 

“Says the girl who couldn’t remember the name of a shop called ‘Shop’—oh goody!” Damon beams sarcastically at Bonnie’s back as she moves closer to the door. 

Bonnie places her hand on the brass knob, turns it fractionally to the right, and pushes in. 

The scents of the shop hit her before anything else. The commonplace smells of New Age herbs like jasmine, sage, and lemongrass mingle warily with African dreamroot, yellow yarrow, and singed cat hair. Bennett magic stemmed from a long line of African and African-American witchcraft—it was in Bonnie’s blood more than in what she did. But even with magic as her birthright, even given all that the ancestors had given, insatiable hunger growled in her belly whenever she sensed power. And she could sense power in the potency of the perfumed air the shop owner had created. 

Guiltily, she pushes it down. 

Damon circumvents Bonnie’s star-struck form and moves into the heart of the shop. Wooden shelves line the walls of the small room, and wide, rectangular tables fill the body. On every surface, Damon sees something shiny or small or smelly. He paces lazily across the wooden floors, eyeing the shelves with idle gluttony. He picks up a golf-ball sized orb of blue and white. Damon tosses it into the air twice, then passes it back and forth between his hands. Curiously, he eyes the price tag taped to the bottom. 

“Fifteen euros for this hunk of marble?” Damon spits, incredulous. He looks to Bonnie for validation and is met with a blank stare. He opens his mouth, closes it, shrugs. “Figures. Taking advantage of idiot tourists is the only thing all you witches have in common.” 

“Taking advantage,” a detached voice murmurs from the back doorway. “Sounds like someone else I know.” 

A woman in her early forties leans against the doorframe with a hand on her hip. Her, curvy five-foot-eight frame is accentuated by a pair of light-wash jeans and a flowing green t-shirt. Her pale blonde hair falls around her face in waves, stops just shy of her waist. Honey-brown eyes flick over Damon with malice, never once venturing to Bonnie’s form. 

“Bon-Bon,” Damon mutters with false joviality. “You didn’t tell me the witch of the hour was Elise Van der Houten.” 

“So you do remember me,” Elise smirks and saunters deeper into the store. 

“How could I forget?” He gulps. In the blink of an eye, Damon’s discomfort dissipates and makes room for flippant flirtation. “Beautiful beach, beautiful boat, beautiful blonde. It feels like it was yesterday.” 

“For you it may as well have been,” She moves closer still until she’s a breath away from him. Accusatorily, she looks him up and down and murmurs, “You haven’t aged a day.” 

“And you don’t look a day over twenty-one,” Damon raises his brows and pulls out his most seductive, crooked smile. His hands move to her hips but before he can connect a brain-splitting explosion in his head blinds him. He yells out in pain, drops to his knees, and clutches his temples. 

“Liar,” Elise tosses, looking down at where he trembles in front of her peeptoes. “Some things never change. I guess you’re one of them.” 

“We didn’t come here to fight,” Bonnie steps forward, ignoring Damon’s quivering body and meeting eyes with Elise. “We’re looking for our friend. Have you seen him?” 

“What makes you think he’s here?” Elise snaps, tossing back her veil of blonde. 

“Spells don’t lie,” Bonnie says evenly. She would not back down; not from anyone, and certainly not from someone who could very well be hurting one of her friends. 

Elise’s eyes flicker with understanding. She looks from Bonnie to Damon, finally letting up on the magical aneurysm she was pumping into Damon’s skull. “Another witch for a bedmate. Just his type.” 

“Ew,” Bonnie’s pronunciation of the single, flat, syllable drips with disgust. “Thanks, Bon,” Damon coughs as he gets to his feet, brushing off his jeans. “And thanks for the help.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Bonnie deadpans. Eyes still on Elise she says, “Where is he? I won’t ask again.” 

After a moment of amused contemplation, Elise concedes. “Down in the cellar.” When she sees the looks of twin fear on their faces, Elise grips her hips and smiles victoriously. “Relax, he’s just in my fortune reading room. And, God, does he have a good one.” She pauses, tilts her head to one side, and adds sweetly, “You’re free to check up on him, if you wish.” 

Without another word, Damon and Bonnie push past her and open the cellar door at her back. They rush down the cement steps as the damp smell of the underground fills their nostrils. 

“So you and Elise…?” Bonnie starts. She fades off, realizing she wasn’t sure what she was going to ask. 

“1997.” Damon says, shrugging cheerily with a sardonic smirk plastered to his face. “She was an impressionable young witch and I was, well, me.” 

“Which means you did something you shouldn’t have,” Bonnie mutters, tosses him a chilling look. 

“I _might’ve_ been using her to get to her family’s Grimoire and find out how to free Katherine,” Damon brushes off his words with a flick of his hand. He stops at the base of the stairs. 

“There it is,” Bonnie chides, joining him on the ground. 

The basement is stacked floor to ceiling with ancient texts, jarred ingredients, and dark objects. The magic hums in the room, bounces off of the cool, stone walls and grounds itself again. Bonnie doesn’t know if Damon can sense it or if it’s only something the witch in her can feel, but she follows the stream of power until she’s face-to-face with a ruby pendant. 

Her eyes widen like pale green saucers, her hands shake like a kettle on high. Bonnie clenches her fists shut and wars with the urge to snatch up the object. Logic and reason fight with pure instinct until Damon cuts through her dilemma. 

“Earth to Bonnie,” he calls, narrowly suppressing the urge to snap his fingers. “I hate to be the voice of reason here, but we have to find Ric. You can go bargain-binning for tacky jewellery later.” 

“Tacky?” Bonnie repeats, pulling away from the pendant. Nudging Damon out of her way with her right shoulder, she retorts smoothly, “Have you seen your daylight ring?” 

Damon frowns, eyebrows pulling together and forehead creasing as he casts a self-conscious look at the ring on his left hand. 

Bonnie eyes a door on the right side of the basement with faint-light streaming through the cracks. She tries to push it open, but the lock sticks. Damon gives the door a shove and the lock breaks off with a loud snap. He lowers his gaze to Bonnie to give her a triumphant smile that she ignores before she enters. 

The small room is all stone just like the rest of the cellar. Browning pages scrawled with ancient writing dress the walls of the room. Latin words, Greek symbols, and African glyphs scream on the pages in their thick, black lines. A shelf filled with old, thick books rests against the right wall. A dagger, a bowl, and a vial of dirt are scattered haphazardly among the shelves. A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling, sways ominously in the windless room, and casts weak and scattered light around them. An afghan rug of navy and burgundy sits on the cold floor, pinned to its position by a small, circular table where a waxy white candle burns. Pressed against the table, elbows support arms that connect to hands that hold a head of familiar brown hair. 

“Ric,” Bonnie says softly. 

When he looks up, her heart breaks. 

Ric’s blue eyes are bloodshot, the pupils dim. The mediocre lighting of the room draws attention to the shadows under his eyes, the hollowness in his cheeks, the downturned corners of his mouth. He breathes a barely-there sigh and clasps his hands together under his chin. Ric’s lips fold against each other and his jaw tightens. 

“What the hell are you doing in some witch’s secret lair?” Damon snaps, striding towards his friend. Damon had no patience for idiocy—not unless it was his own. 

“Damon,” Bonnie warns. She side-eyes Damon coldly, then sits in the chair opposite Ric. “What’s going on?” 

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head slowly, his eyes on Bonnie’s face though his gaze is blank. “I can’t handle it. I thought maybe, maybe after a few months…” He pinches his eyes shut as he fades off. His next words come out harsh and strained. “It’s only gotten worse.” Ric opens his eyes and looks at Bonnie as if seeing her and the rest of the world for the first time. “I can’t do it anymore.” 

“And you thought lying to us and booking an appointment with the first Wicked Witch of Western Europe you could find was your answer?” Damon fumes. His eyes narrow to slits. “Where have you been the last seven years?” 

Bonnie rolls her eyes at Damon’s outburst and grits her teeth. She had to find out what Ric had done, find out if it was something she could fix. “What did you ask her?” 

“And what did she tell you?” Damon snarls. His hands curl around the top of Bonnie’s chair back. 

“I asked if she could bring them back,” Alaric admits. His eyelids fall shut in defeat. “I asked if she could bring back Jo and the kids.” 

“You—” Damon starts to shout, hands gripping the chair so tightly he can feel the wood splintering his palms. 

“Damon!” Bonnie rebukes again. Focusing on Alaric, she presses, “What did she say?” 

“She said it was impossible,” Ric hesitates, fixes his eyes on Bonnie’s. “Until I told her Jo and the twins were Gemini witches.” 

Before Bonnie or Damon can comment, Elise glides into the room. 

“Then I said it was doable—just barely, but doable,” Elise moves behind Ric, mirroring Damon’s position with Bonnie. 

“Is it—is it dangerous?” Bonnie asks. She feels Damon’s knuckles against her back, feels the agitation building. They only had a few seconds left before he did something rash. 

“All the best spells are, Love,” Elise smirks with condescension at Bonnie. Keeping her eyes on Bonnie, she asks, “Is she past fire charms yet, this one?” 

Bonnie’s face hardens but Damon says, “Last I remember, yours were a little rusty.” 

“Nineteen years is a long time, Damon,” Elise grins widely so her white teeth shine like fangs. “Think fast.” 

Before anyone can react, Elise raises the index and middle fingers of her right hand and drags them from left to right, launching the small dagger on the shelf through the air and into his heart. Spasms of pain radiate through Damon’s whole body. His legs stiffen beneath him, and he falls to the floor. 

“I was _going_ to help you put your wife back together, Darling, but killing Damon Salvatore is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” Elise offers Alaric what she considers an apologetic smile. “You understand.” 

Bonnie doesn’t wait for another opening. She starts swishing her hands from right to left, tossing books from the shelf at Elise. In the onslaught, Alaric ducks too slowly and a thick Grimoire pelts him in the shoulder. Bonnie would apologize for that later—if they made it out of this alive. 

She pushes her chair back, stands on her feet, and cups the air with her hands. 

“ _ **Phesmatos Morsinus Pyrox Allum.**_ ” Bonnie feels her magic surge through her. It explodes around her in a whirlwind, whipping her hair back and stirring the air. Finally, it jumps forward and slides down her target’s throat. 

Elise lets out a high scream and hunches forward. Her long, wheat-coloured hair shields her face from view but does nothing to muffle the sharp heaving of her breath. She collapses to the ground arching her back with a feline’s grace. 

Ric looks down at her in shock. He jumps up from his seat and sidesteps the wounded witch. He didn’t have his hunter ring, and he’d been out of the game too long. He didn’t stand a chance against a witch, especially not one betrayed by a Salvatore. He moves even further back so that he’s pressed against the wall, almost out of the fight. Almost. 

Damon gets on one knee and braces himself with a hand on the floor. He reaches up to the charmed dagger and rips it from his chest cavity, letting out a howl of pain and annoyance as he does so. The lacerations fold together as his flesh heals, and he rises to his feet. 

“You,” Damon indicates Ric with the pointy end of the dagger. “Out.” 

When Ric moves past the threshold, Damon looks over to Bonnie. “You too, Bon. I’ll clean this up.” 

“ _ **Clausia.**_ ” The oaky door crashes into its frame. Elise grins and pushes a flat palm upwards in Bonnie’s direction, lifting her off her feet and slamming her into the door with a deafening crack. 

Bonnie sees stars as her head connects with the solid wood. She slides into a heap at the base of the door and narrowly opens her eyes with difficulty. The pain throbs in her temples as she tries, unsuccessfully, to get her bearings. With one hand pressed to the door and the other against the cool ground, she moves towards the corner of the room on the far side of the door. If she could get there, get to her feet, maybe she could pull a flame from that candle on the table to distract Elise and give Damon an edge in the fight. 

“It’s only fitting that I kill one of your friends, _too_ , Damon. You deserve no less.” 

“You get what you give I guess,” Damon snarls absently. With a quick flick of the wrist, he propels the blade straight towards Elise with alarming force. It rotates on its journey before it finally lodges into her shoulder. With a guttural cry, she looks down at the red stain expanding on the short sleeve of her t-shirt and clutches her wounded arm. 

“ ** _Mo—_** ” Bonnie begins an incantation wearily, one hand pressed to the stone wall for support as she tries to rise. 

“ ** _Phesmatos obcaecous!_** ” Elise interrupts Bonnie with an exclamation that shakes the room, the index and middle finger of one hand pointed at Bonnie, and the corresponding fingers of her other hand pointed at Damon. 

Bonnie’s head pulses to the beat of her pumping blood. Her ears ring with the sound of her own heartbeat, pushing all thought far out of her head. Her eyes struggle to focus on the advancing blonde with her hands curled into claws. The world, turns bronze, then gold, and then finally the white-yellow of direct sunlight. The table, the walls, the objects, all shift into translucent orbs of brightness that burn Bonnie’s mind. What Bonnie can only assume is Elise appears to be a vague glowing shape thinly juxtaposed onto the colourless world. 

With a quick yank of her left hand, Elise pulls Damon across the small room where he crashes into the wooden table and then the stone wall on the other side. With another jerk of her wrist, Elise throws a freshly severed table leg into his stomach and hears the wet sound of the wood staking him. 

Bonnie blinks frantically, squinting her eyes to try to shield from the directionless sunlight. A long-nailed hand wraps around her throat and bites into her skin, stifling her shriek. Bonnie is lifted from her perch and dragged against the cool stone wall until she is upright. 

“Damon, dear, I want you to see this,” Elise croons. She flattens the upturned palm of her free hand and raises it, jerking him into a standing position so swiftly that he grimaces. She rotates so that she’s behind Bonnie with one hand crushing her throat and the other pressed on top of her head. She smiles triumphantly as Damon’s eyes focus on the two of them, masking a wince of pain caused by the dagger in her shoulder with a laugh, “You never afforded me the courtesy of saying goodbye to the people I loved. But I want you to live with this.” 

“Next time, try to grab a person I love,” Damon grins, grimaces, and then grins again. “Actually, I’m one heartbeat away from the person I love so…do your worst." 

Bonnie feels her body go cold. Her bright blindness is disturbed by the images of forests and farmhouses and fangs that live in her mind. A few, slim glances of Damon’s apathetic face seep through her distorted vision as Elise’s grasp of her curse falters. 

“What are you talking about?” Elise demands, loosening and then tightening her grip on Bonnie. 

“I don’t care about that witch,” Damon hunches over and releases a laugh that turns into a cough. His hands tug violently at the wood buried in his abdomen. 

**_Ossox,_** Bonnie chants in her head. The phalanges in the hand cupping her neck each snap in three places with a satisfying spattering of cracks. Elise screams and Bonnie’s vision clears in time to reveal Damon triumphantly tossing the wooden stake he’d freed from his stomach onto the ground. 

In the very next second, the whites of Damon’s eyes turn blood red. His veins and fangs protrude horrifically from his face. . He lurches towards Bonnie and Elise at heightened vampire-speed with his mouth ajar. Bonnie flinches at his advancement, to his surprise, and he sets his mouth against the pale flesh of Elise’s exposed neck with Bonnie sandwiched between them. 

Damon fists one hand in the roots of the long, blonde hair coming from Elise’s scalp and grips her shoulder with the other. He pulls her head all the way to one side so that the thick, juicy vein in her neck thumps prominently with her delicately draining life. Focusing on the feed, Damon easily drowns out her screams and pinches the throbbing cord of her blood between his top and bottom rows of teeth. With hatred in his heart, he bites the vein sharply enough that it breaks and yanks his lethal mouth away from her as viciously as he set it upon her. 

Warm blood sprays Bonnie’s face as the hands on her lose all their tension. The solid figure behind her crumples to the ground without another word, and the one pressed against her chest steps backwards. 

Bonnie staggers. 

Damon’s mouth and teeth are stained scarlet, rivulets of red streaming down his chin. His vampire face is still exposed as he licks his bottom lip. 

Bonnie lets out a relieved sigh as her heartbeat returns to normal. A moment later when her sense of survival is quieted by indignant rage, she gives Damon a hard look as her shoulders rise and fall with her shuddering breath. 

Damon looks down at the limp body crumpled on the ground, then back at the very angry—and very much alive—witch wearing blood like face paint. Damon swipes a thumb against the underside of his chin, peers at it quizzically, and puts the bloody digit into his mouth. “Mm,” he says lightly. “Amsterdam Blonde.”


	3. Home Sweet Hell

“Finally,” Stefan murmurs under his breath as he pulls into the circular driveway of Salvatore Boarding House.

Rays of sunlight break through the foliage of the nearby pines and oaks and scatter across the gabled roof and soft brown bricks of the Salvatore residence. With its manicured lawns, potted white chrysanthemums, and the ancient, clay water-well embellished with dancing children, the big home had always been a place that screamed of otherness. The brothers had gotten into the habit of keeping Salvatore House in good shape over the past seven or so years. Despite its trimmings and trappings, however, an aura of aloofness clung to the very fibre of the home, perfumed its walls. This was not a place you went to retrieve your windblown Frisbee if you could help it; this was not a place you felt welcome.

Yet, even knowing all this, the party of four pressed against the cushy interior of Caroline’s 2011 Ford Fiesta felt some of the tension in their aching limbs expel itself into the atmosphere at the sight of it.

Damon stares out of the passenger side window with glum distaste contorting his mouth into a half-pout. The thick, double doors were a landmark for one of the many spaces where he had kissed Elena more times than he could count. Damon could picture her full mouth parting into an easy grin as he pulled away to get a look at her, to see the way she—

The click of Bonnie’s car door swinging open pulls Damon from his musings.

He glances over his shoulder lazily. Bonnie sets her right foot onto the paved path beneath them. She hoists her backpack onto her left shoulder and starts to lower her other leg. 

“Car’s not even off yet, Bon,” Damon mutters.

Stefan turns the keys in the ignition. The hum of the engine fades into soft nothingness and Stefan barely stifles a sigh. He watches through the rear-view mirror as Bonnie yanks up the black carry on that had been precariously placed on the car floor between her feet. Anticipating her, Stefan pops the trunk as she heads towards the back of the Ford.

“No way she can carry her six tonnes of baggage by herself.” Damon’s eyes widen in amusement as he, too, checks the rear-view mirror. He grins as he unlocks his car door, eyes still following her hasty movements through the sliver of glass, “This I gotta see.”

“Leave her alone, Damon,” Stefan sighs in exasperation.

“I’m just being supportive, brother,” Damon smirks glibly at the warning.

Wasn’t it just like Stefan to pretend he knew Bonnie Bennett better than his brother? Centuries of being everyone’s favourite Salvatore had clearly made it difficult for Stefan to imagine playing second fiddle, even when it was so obvious—

“Stefan,” Bonnie calls from the rear of the vehicle. She tugs out a medium-sized suitcase and a black duffel bag. With a huff, she asks, “Could you grab my other suitcase for me?”

“Of c—” Stefan starts, Bonnie already making her way to the front door without waiting for his response. “Course.”

Damon rolls his eyes exasperatedly as Bonnie passes his door. He gives Stefan a look of mild annoyance, blue eyes boring into his brother’s dark, blank ones. Stefan pulls his mouth into a tight line and shrugs apathetically. He opens his door a second before Damon and Ric do the same.

Bonnie follows the curve of the driveway, hauling the suitcase and duffel with a small groan. She was through with it, she decided. She was going to gather her things, say ‘Hi’ to Caroline, and then head back to her father’s house so she could get the rest of her plans going. All she had to do was get in and out of Salvatore house as quickly as—

“You made it!” Caroline squeals from the house’s entrance. 

“Barely,” Bonnie murmurs, hoisting the suitcase up to the doorway. Caroline effortlessly lifts the luggage and carries it inside. “Caroline, you don’t have to…” Bonnie starts, watching the loose blonde curls bounce as Caroline heads upstairs. She sighs at the typical Caroline Forbes behaviour, closing her eyes and nodding as her hopes for a quick and quiet exit vanish.

Bonnie turns away from the Gothic décor of the Salvatore living room and follows Caroline upstairs. When Caroline was on a mission, there was little anyone could do but attempt to follow her without falling behind—and the quick rap of kitten-heeled boots against hardwood was a clear sign that Caroline had plans that would not be compromised.

Caroline sets the suitcase down in Stefan’s bedroom with Bonnie behind her. Before Bonnie can put her duffel down, Caroline whips around to face her with her hands clasped in front of her chest and a forced smile straining her face.

“Oh no,” Fear tickles the back of Bonnie’s throat as she sees that familiarly pleading look in Caroline’s eyes. “What’s the face for?” 

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

“Can’t until I know what the face is for.”

Caroline takes a deep breath through her nostrils and then blurts, “I _may_ have planned a little ‘Welcome Back to Mystic Falls’ party for you. Tonight.”

“Caroline,” Bonnie groans. The duffel falls off her shoulder with a thud.

“I’m sorry!” Caroline exclaims, moving closer to Bonnie with her hands in a prayer pose. “I just missed you so much and I thought it would be fun to get together and have some dancing and hors d’oeuvres and cocktails with all of our friends.”

“We have friends?” Bonnie raises a brow incredulously at Caroline. In the past few years, she couldn’t exactly remember having a long list of people to confide in. It had pretty much just been her, Caroline, and Elena. And now…

“You know, _Matt_ … _Tyler_ might come by…that girl from the grill who sometimes says something funny when she gives us our drinks, a few college kids,” Caroline lists the possible suspects for the evening with flair. Not even a pitiable social circle could stop Caroline Forbes from planning a good party. 

“Is Jeremy coming?” Bonnie asks. Her mind flicks to her recurring nightmare without her permission—Jeremy with his hands on her hips, and then Kai with his hands on her throat.

“No, Bon,” Caroline rests a hand on Bonnie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get a hold of him.”

“It’s fine, I know he’s busy,” Bonnie shrugs and waves it off. He was out there in the real world, with a real life. And she was still here, still trying to…what was it she was trying to do again? “When does this thing start?”

“Thirty minutes,” Caroline says promptly. When she sees the look on Bonnie’s face, her smile softens. “Ish. Thirtyish. I’m sorry. Are you mad?”

“I’m not _mad_ , Care, I’m just tired,” Bonnie rubs her hands over her face with a sigh. 

“It’ll only be for a couple of hours,” Caroline promises. “I’ll even let you…drink bourbon and hang out with Damon all night, if that helps.”

Bonnie laughs mirthlessly, “I don’t exactly think bourbon-buddy-bonding with Damon is in my near future.”

“Why not?” Caroline’s brows knit together in confusion. “Did something happen?”

“He attacked me,” Bonnie says matter-of-factly.

“What?” Caroline gasps, voice growing quiet with shock.

“Okay, that’s a lie,” Bonnie confesses, shaking her head in frustration. “What I meant was he attacked the _witch_ attacking me.” When Caroline only responds with a raised brow, Bonnie rolls her eyes. “See, now it seems like I’m overreacting.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

Bonnie and Damon had an unorthodox relationship to say the least. They’d gone from enemies to acquaintances to begrudging allies to friends in a very short amount of time, and part of Bonnie was still trying to catch up. When Elena had first chosen Damon over Stefan, Bonnie wasn’t the only one who was appalled and confused. She had spent so long convinced that he was not worthy of redemption, and then one of the best people she knew had decided to love him. And though Bonnie had accepted it, she didn’t really understand it: not until the prison world. In the emptiness of that 1994—the vacant streets of Mystic Falls, the abandoned Salvatore Boarding House—she’d felt like she’d met Damon for the first time.

Had she just imagined it?

Bonnie opens up her suitcase and starts to sift through possible outfits for the night. Holding up a short, black number and inspecting it, she begins, “Ric got involved with a really powerful witch in Amsterdam, and when Damon and I went to go find him…well, we found out Damon had been involved with her too. In a much more… _icky_ way.”

“Naturally,” Caroline interjects, an annoyed eye roll turning her blue-green orbs back in her head.

“And, of course, being Damon, he betrayed her,” Bonnie says the words before she fully realizes the weight of them. She pauses, lowers the black dress, and lets it sinks in.

“Of course,” Caroline sighs.

“So she decides that she’s going to get revenge on him for everything he did to her back then by killing someone he loves. Me.” It was ridiculous to be hurt about it, even now. Bonnie drapes a light purple dress over the crook of her left arm, then a gold one, and then a green one. “And he said that she’d have to do a better job finding someone he loved because he didn’t care about me at all.”

“What an asshole,” Caroline’s eyes fill with concern, her words only half as sharp as they ought to be. “Then what?”

“He killed her,” Bonnie lays the dresses on Stefan’s bed. She tries not to let the memory of Damon’s fangs about to close in on her fill her mind, but it’s too familiar, too close to the nightly terrors that infiltrate her sleep.

“Oh,” Caroline looks surprised. She shrugs, smiles, “Then that’s just…Damon. You know he always has to make a big show about everything. He was just saying that to taunt her, draw out her death.” Caroline pauses. “Why are we friends with him again?”

“It’s not just what he said it’s that I’m pretty sure he meant it.” She runs her fingers along the lattice cut chest of the green dress, “Ever since Elena…I don’t know, it’s just been different. _He’s_ different. He resents me and I don’t blame him, exactly, I just don’t really want to deal with it.”

“Okay, Bonnie, that’s ridiculous,” Caroline shakes her head, distress marking lines on her forehead. “What happened with Elena isn’t your fault. It’s Kai’s. And it’s not like she’s gone forever. Damon will get to see her again, we all will.” Caroline winces when she realizes her mistake. She looks at Bonnie silently, searching for the right words. Unable to find them, Caroline mutters, “I am _such_ an idiot.”

“No,” Bonnie puts her hand on Caroline’s shoulder, shaking off her friend’s guilt. “You’re right. Everyone will get to see her again. Everyone but me.”

“It’s not fair,” Caroline agrees, sympathy swimming in her eyes. “It’s so not fair.”

“But when has anything ever been fair, Caroline?” Bonnie asks with a dry laugh. “It doesn’t matter, anyways. The point is I feel like I’m living on borrowed time. Like I don’t have a reason to be here.”

“Bonnie Bennett,” Caroline’s eyes harden. Her jaw sets with fierce determination. “I don’t want you to even _think_ you don’t belong here. Not for a second. Mystic Falls is your home.”

“Then maybe it’s time to leave the nest,” Bonnie murmurs. Because she’s a coward, because she doesn’t want to see the look in Caroline’s eyes, she continues to sort through her dresses as she speaks. “Look, I love all of you more than anything. But as long as I stay here I’m just going to remember that my best friend can’t be with the people she loves until I’m not. And you’re right, it’s not my fault. But it is my burden.”

Things hadn’t been the same since they’d lost Elena, lost Jo. A cloud hung over Bonnie and her friends no matter how hard they tried to pretend it wasn’t there. Elena would get her shot at life, and because most of the people that made up her life were immortal, she’d still get to spend it amongst loved ones. So it wasn’t the end of the world, but maybe that was the problem.

Bonnie had put so much of her life on hold for every war against a doppelgänger or an original or a hunter or a siphon. She had given her life so many times over to protect the ones she loved, and she wouldn’t trade that for anything. But she was tired, and the people she loved had grown fangs or claws or clad their skin in armour. They could protect themselves. And the ones who couldn’t were either conveniently dead or deep in a supernatural coma. 

Now it was Bonnie’s turn to protect herself, too.

“Jeremy had the right idea,” Bonnie finally says, plucking a stray thread from the purple dress. “It doesn’t matter how safe you try to play it here, it’s still Mystic Falls. You are my best friend, Caroline, but you’re a vampire. And so are the rest of my friends. And if my life is the only thing that’s keeping Elena from being here with all of you right now, I’m going to make it a damn good one.” Bonnie clears her throat. Tears fill her eyes. “I’m selling the house.”

“What?” Caroline’s voice snaps like a twig. Bonnie looks over and sees that her eyes are glistening as well.

“My dad died nearly two years ago, Care,” Bonnie shrugs even as the tears roll down her cheeks. “Who’s going to live in it?” Before Caroline can answer, Bonnie wipes her tears with the back of her hand, “No, I’ve made up my mind. If I’m going to die human, I’m going to live human, too. I’ll sell the house, buy a pickup or something…something that travels well. And then I’ll go East. Or maybe West, I haven’t really decided yet. And I’ll work a little, finish up school, maybe meet someone _nice_.” Bonnie laughs even as she chokes on a sob. “Because God knows I could use it.”

Caroline laughs too, her face red from restraining the tears that now flow freely down her face. Without a word she pulls Bonnie into a tight hug,and they both cling to each other as if their lives depend on it. And maybe they did, Bonnie thinks. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Caroline asks quietly and Bonnie feels her heart break a little.

That was the Caroline she knew. Bossy, obsessive, a little manipulative—but with a heart made of gold. And even though losing Bonnie would hurt her, Caroline wanted her best friend to be happy. The knowledge that she would be forgiven for leaving Caroline behind would make it easier for Bonnie to do just that. Easier, but not easy.

“No, not right now,” Bonnie sniffles, wiping at some tears. “Just don’t tell anyone, alright? Not yet. I’ve got to figure some stuff out first.”

“Okay,” Caroline nods. She fights another wave of tears, and checks the clock. “You have twentyish minutes. Give or take.” She starts to leave the bedroom, then calls back over her shoulder, “Oh, and don’t wear the purple dress because it has the same neckline as mine.”

And just like that, Bonnie laughs, Caroline was back.

***

Downstairs, Damon gets straight to work on fixing himself a glass of about three fingers of bourbon. He gulps down the bitter, honey-coloured liquid and sighs with satisfaction. The singular suitcase Damon had brought with him to Amsterdam now leans against the right side of the brown, leather sofa while he shakes off his jacket and drops it along the arm. 

Stefan follows his brother with a look of disappointed concern. He rests his shoulder blades against the threshold to the dark room, eyes on his brother’s nearly empty glass. Damon pretends not to notice the pensive glare and sits on the sofa, sinking his body back into the cushioning just as Ric joins them.

“Damon, what are you doing?’ Stefan asks in exasperation.

“Riding a pony,” Damon replies, sarcasm punctuating every word. He tosses a chipper smile at Stefan, gesturing with his glass, “What’s it look like?”

“I mean with Bonnie,” Stefan clarifies.

“Oh, that,” Damon shrugs, having another sip of his bourbon. “Little witch is mad at me for saving her life.” When Stefan gives him a pointed look, Damon elaborates, “Well she’s mad at me for _how_ I saved her life.”

“And how exactly was that?” Stefan presses.

“Look,” Damon gulps the remainder of his drink and then rises to pour himself another. “I’m not going to fucking apologize for making sure she still has a heartbeat to hate me with. And I’m definitely not going to go through the whole exposition thing with you, Brother.” Damon pops the crystal stopper out of the decanter and gestures to Ric with it. “Anyway, how is it that he tries to sell his soul to the Devil Who Wears Knock Off Prada and I’m the only one getting asked any questions around here, hmm?”

“Because he’s grieving,” Stefan answers before Ric can.

Damon shoots his brother a cold look. As usual, Stefan could defend the actions of almost everyone, except for Damon. Sure, Stefan would always stand by his side, but he would never really be on it. He treated every conversation like a lecture, like an opportunity to put his lesser brother on a better path and ‘save’ him. Always playing hero, Damon muses, even now.

“Well so am I,” Damon smiles bitterly at Stefan, pouring four fingers of bourbon this time around. He raises his glass in cheers, “In case you forgot.” 

“Not the same.”

Stefan and Damon both turn to look at Ric. He had become a quiet but somber presence ever since he’d given up the façade of being a well-adjusted almost-widower at the tail end of their European adventure. Damon could scarcely be brought to pay his old friend any mind, the mere sight of him so unbearably sad and pathetic that it infuriated Damon’s principles. Damon had never cared much for moping. He’d always preferred to do something destructive—or self-destructive—in its place. But with Ric’s bloodshot eyes and his mouth permanently downturned, Damon could feel his own mood souring.

“Hey buddy, if your idea of ‘grieving’ is being sober and getting neck deep in black magic, to each his own,” Damon has another drink.

“That’s not what I meant,” Ric’s voice is hard as stone. He steps towards Damon. “We’re not grieving about the same thing. You miss your girlfriend right now, but you’ll get to see Elena again and spend the rest of your life with her. You get a reunion. You get more time. I don’t.” Ric’s voice breaks then rises as his eyes fill. “My wife and my kids were killed, murdered. And they’re gone. Forever. I don’t get them back. So your _grief_ , Damon, is bullshit.”

Damon feels a lump forming in the back of his throat.

He gulps down more bourbon to numb it. 

“Whose fault is it that you married into the most fucked up family on the planet?” Damon snarls at Ric. “If you don’t want a dead wife, don’t marry a Gemini.”

Ric lunges swiftly, one fist rushing upwards to connect with Damon’s jaw. Effortlessly, Damon catches Ric’s hand in his own, holding the tumbler easily in the other. Damon feels Ric’s fingers pulse as he attempts to break free. He watches with amusement as Ric tries to launch the other hand upwards. Without a second thought, Damon elbows Ric’s other hand down sharply and increases the pressure on Ric’s fist until he sees pain register on his face.

“If you’re trying to get me to help with your death wish, don’t think I’m not dumb enough to fall for it,” Damon looks at Ric testily, bringing his drink back to his lips before pushing Ric away and releasing his fist.

Ric jerks backwards, a look of indignation on his face. His eyes sear into Damon one last time before he leaves the room, and then the house with a slam of the door. 

“Are you kidding me?” Stefan’s voice rises in outrage. He crosses to Damon, body rigid with tension. “What the hell is wrong you?”

“He started it,” Damon mutters. He walks back around to the sofa and takes a seat, kicking his feet up onto the upholstery. 

“Why are you acting like this?” Stefan looks at his brother with disgust.

“Because it’s who I am!” Damon exclaims, throwing both arms outwards so Stefan can have a good look at him. “I’m sorry that your years of blind optimism had you convinced that I was something else, but _this_ is who I am.” He pauses and gives his brother a pointed look. “Who I’ve always been.”

“Elena wouldn’t—” Stefan begins.

“Well look around, Stefan. She’s not here.” Damon snaps. He finishes off his drink and sets the glass down. The warm buzz of the liquor starts to circulate through his body.

“First Bonnie, then Ric, and now me,” Stefan says with a nod. “If you’re trying to push us all away so that you can go off the deep end, don’t expect me not to drag your ass back onto solid ground, kicking and screaming.”

“I don’t need you to save me this time, Stef, but thanks.” Damon puts his hands behind his head and lets out a sigh. He closes his eyes and lets the drunken relaxation climb through his veins.

“It’s not for you, it’s for Elena,” Stefan speaks with finality.

Damon opens one eye.

“I don’t want her waking up to find you a complete and total wreck, okay? It would destroy her. You act out, but Elena...she breaks. And you should know that.”

Stefan’s words hang in the air for a moment before he adds. “We all grieve differently.”

Because he has nothing to say, and because the guilt and shame burn so fiercely inside of him, Damon simply closes his eye again and starts to nod off. His jaw, however, remains tight and unyielding.

He hears footsteps as Stefan starts to leave the living room.

“And clean yourself up,” Stefan calls back, “Caroline’s throwing a party.”

***

Bonnie decides that there would never be a day when Caroline’s ability to make something out of nothing would cease to amaze her.

The dull and dingy décor of Salvatore House was tastefully brightened by the lit fireplaces and well placed floor lamps Caroline had brought down from the attic. Soft jazz music lilted through the rooms of the house via speaker, all of it expertly controlled by Caroline’s Spotify playlist that no one could disrupt or alter. She’d even gone to the trouble of creating an excellent spread for her guests, human and otherwise; cheese platters, pita and hummus, wild salmon canapés, Colombian empanadas, Polish croquettes, and bruschetta bread filled a buffet table in the foyer fitted with a white cloth. Truth be told, it wasn’t entirely necessary since most of the guests couldn’t bear to break themselves away from the well-stocked bar in the living room. 

Bonnie pours a glass of red wine for herself and moves towards the hors d’oeuvres. She watches as Tyler and Matt catch up across the room, each of them holding a beer in hand. Matt’s blue eyes always looked like they were swimming in some new sadness, Bonnie notes. It had been that way ever since he’d lost his sister. Tyler, on the other hand, always had dark, angry eyes. That had been how it was even before he’d triggered the curse. And now the two of them were talking like old friends, all of the old pains and traumas still there but living somewhere beneath the surface.

She’d give anything to be like that.

“How much do you wanna bet Donovan is rehashing his old glory days?” Damon asks.

Bonnie cringes. She turns to see him stuffing his face with olives and cheese, a glass of bourbon glued to his left hand.

She scoffs and walks to the other side of the table.

“Oh come on, Bon Bon,” Damon whines. He follows her around the table and has a drink. “Can we skip ahead to the part where you forgive me? This hurt-and-betrayed act is getting old.”

“Oh, it’s an act, is it?” Bonnie coats each word in ice. She puts a piece of bruschetta bread on a paper plate.

“Yes, it is,” Damon barrels on. He watches her take two canapés. “So can we just skip it?”

“What makes you think I’m just going to forgive you for what you did and how you made me feel?” Bonnie faces him. She sets her jaw, shrugs a shoulder, and fixes her eyes on his. “What makes you think I’m going to do that?”

“Because you _always_ do,” Damon exclaims, exasperated. “I do something you don’t like, you give me the silent treatment or the cold shoulder or whatever, and then when all hell breaks loose, we’re the dream team again. You look into my beautiful, blue eyes, and you realize you can’t stay mad at _me_.” Damon smirks and widens his gaze for effect. He plucks up one of her canapés and pops it into his mouth. “I fuck up, you forgive me.”

He was right, of course. Bonnie had been anti-Damon for the first four or five years they'd known each other, but once they became friends that was it. He could do no wrong; he could never go “too far”. She was always just on the other side of whatever line he crossed, waiting to take him back and lead him down the path to redemption. She had come to see him as unimpeachable, the same way Elena, and Stefan, and—to some extent—even Caroline saw him. 

That was going to have to change. 

“You’re right,” Bonnie admits.

“See? Damon chucks her chin with a knuckle. “So let’s go have some bourbon and forget about this lame ass party.”

“No,” Bonnie shakes her head, a determined grin spread across her face. She narrows her eyes, “If you want my forgiveness, the very least you can do is say you’re sorry. But the fact that that thought hasn’t even occurred to you…no, Damon. I’m not going to forgive you. We’re not friends. We’re not going to be friends until you grow up.” She puts two more canapés on her plate and nudges past him, “Excuse me.”

Damon pinches his lips together in distaste as she retreats. Her green dress sways from the speed of her steps. Damon contemplates bothering her some more but before he can swallow the rest of his bourbon, the main doors burst open.

A trio looms in the threshold. A slender girl with dirty blonde hair stands on the left with inquisitive eyes that feather over everything and everyone. A dark-skinned man on the right casts blank eyes at the buffet and the guests surrounding it. The brown-haired man in the middle looks only at Damon.

The party lulls. Drinks rest in curved hands. Hors D’oeuvres do not complete their trips to waiting mouths. Laughter melts. Conversations fall away. All eyes go to the latest arrivals.

Bonnie watches Caroline make her way to the foyer with a bright smile. 

Caroline tosses back her blonde waves, and uses her best hostess voice to say, “Hi, I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced yet. I’m Caroline.”

“This is the house,” the brunet muses. His eyes drift from Damon to Caroline, then back to Damon. “Lily’s house.”

“ _Our_ house,” Damon corrects. He finishes his bourbon and sets the glass down. Taking measured steps towards the heretics, he adds, “Mine and Stefan’s. Who are you?”

Stefan enters the foyer. He moves in front of Caroline and next to his brother. 

Bonnie watches the three of them from a few feet away. She glances around to locate Matt and Tyler’s position in the room before refocusing on the vampire showdown. 

“Malcolm, don’t be rude,” the girl steps forward. She grins, “Lily would want us to be kind to her kin, wouldn’t she?”

“Or she’d want us to rip their heads off,” Malcolm simpers. He turns to the black vampire on his left. “Beau, what do you think? Who’s right, me or Valerie?”

Beau remains perfectly expressionless, blinks twice, then meets Malcolm’s eyes.

“See, Beau agrees,” Malcolm celebrates.

“Wait, so you guys are our mother’s—” Stefan begins.

“Orphans?” Damon finishes.

“We’re her family.” Valerie states. “Her _real_ family.”

“Is this a pissing contest over who our bitch of a mother likes more?” Damon snickers. “Because, we honestly couldn’t care less.” 

He looks to Stefan, whose brown eyes sit impassively in his face. 

To anyone else, Stefan Salvatore was a fortress of cool composure. But Damon could read the tension around his brother’s pursed lips, the rigidness of his arms. Stefan was quietly begging Damon not to do anything rash, to be reasonable and tactful. Basically, Stefan wanted his brother to do a million completely un-Damon things. As usual.

“What did you call her?” Malcolm’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“You, in particular, can zip up and call it a night, okay?” Damon takes another step towards Malcolm. “We don’t want anything to do with Lily Salvatore, or any of her off-brand entourage. Hit the road.”

“You must be Damon,” Valerie giggles. Her pale blue eyes light. “The reckless one.”

“As reckless as the day is long, would you like me to show you?” Damon’s heart rate speeds up with adrenaline. Who to kill first, he thinks. 

“Damon,” Stefan warns.

“Ah, and Stefan,” Valerie beams. “The one with the brain.”

“Original,” Damon mutters.

“We don’t want any trouble, alright?” Stefan explains. 

The chandeliers dance and flicker. The paintings shake and twist. A few alarmed shouts pour from the mouths of the human guests. 

Bonnie fixes her eyes on the centre vampire.

Malcolm laughs, then snarls, “Well _we_ do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a terrible terrible terrible person, I'm sorry it's taken me a legitimate year to upload the third chapter -_-  
> Life got busy, y'know?
> 
> ANYWAYS HOPE YOU ENJOY ^_^


	4. Blood Will Have Blood

At the inflection point where an inhale turns into an exhale, there’s a heartbeat of a second for Damon to assess the implications of a battle in the Salvatore foyer. Human guests would die. Though Matt—stubbornly—would live another day to be an ineffective member of Mystic Falls law enforcement, other human lives would be lost. Even he, Damon pondered, along with Stefan, Caroline, and Bonnie might sustain injuries. And the bottom line was that with the heretics siphoning magic off of vampirism and witchcraft, virtually untouchable, there was little reward to accompany the risk.

There was no reason to engage. Looking at the pathetic scowls on their faces, Damon could recall a time where he’d have snowballed into them. Certain versions of Damon Salvatore throughout the ages were known to round up the likes of them as his own personal entourage. Aimless destruction, imagined crusades, unbridled havoc; the stench of it was so familiar, so inviting. But against Lily Salvatore’s vengeful adoptees, Stefan was right to diffuse. And, just this once, Damon would consider taking a page out of his brother’s holier-than-thou book.

Or, Damon thinks.

Or he could punch that blond twat right in his face.

Half a second before Damon lunges for Malcolm, the blond rotates his fingers upwards.

Instantly, the chandelier overhead plummets from its position and crashes onto Stefan and Caroline.

Damon’s fist connects with Malcolm’s face.

Malcolm staggers back three steps, dumbfounded.

Before Damon can even smirk or aim a second hit, Valerie thrusts both hands forward and sends him flying into the the table behind him with a sharp crack, splintering the mahogany rectangle like a tree caught in a storm.

In the chaos of shattering dishes, pooling liquids, and growing panic, Bonnie and Matt find each other’s gaze. Matt’s alarmed expression hardens into one of resolve just as Bonnie assumes hers must. Years of being privy to the supernatural hijinks of Mystic Falls had prepared Matt Donovan for quick clean up and damage control. He nods to Bonnie, grabs Tyler’s arm, and whispers an instruction.

The two of them begin ushering guests out with precision. Tyler places his wide palms on the shoulders of two raven-haired girls Bonnie had never met before. Matt points three college football stars towards the beeline Tyler is making for the Salvatore kitchen, and the exit concealed within.

Matt pats his hip where his holster would be if he were on duty, and curls his hand into a fist.

Satisfied, Bonnie turns her gaze back to the commonplace kerfuffle taking place in the boarding house. Whether passing through or attempting to make a bid for control of Mystic Falls, supernatural beings were always challenging and threatening the Salvatores et al. Throwing a party with their guard down, with civilians present, was a mistake they had made countless times before—and, it seemed, would continue to make.

Valerie yanks Caroline up by her hair, then grips her throat. Caroline writhes, hands locking around Valerie’s wrist attempting to sever her hold. A squint from Valerie, however, stills Caroline’s defiance and turns it into a shower of pained screams.

While Valerie takes on Caroline, Beau focuses his efforts on Stefan. He raises a hand and sends tiny shards of chandelier glass darting into Stefan’s body. Then, Beau twists his hands and starts to break Stefan’s bones one at a time.

Malcolm approaches Damon.

Bonnie searches her mind for a useful spell, anything to give her friends an advantage.

“ ** _Corposus Fixum._** ” Bonnie’s fingers extend then curl into fists. Adrenaline and the dizzying sensation of spell work churn in her gut.

Beau’s hand twitches as he attempts to jab his index finger in Stefan’s direction.

Malcolm’s left leg pauses midair, halfway through a step towards Damon.

Valerie’s magic loses its effect, and Caroline stops screaming in her grasp. 

Their wild eyes and tense jaws betray the fact that they are still awake, though incapable of controlling their bodies.

“Move,” Bonnie commands her friends, focusing on the magic.

Stefan grimaces, but jumps to his feet.

Caroline pries her neck out of Valerie’s claw-like hand.

Damon slowly stands, scowls at his shirt, and shakes dip off of his right sleeve.

“Does anyone know if hummus stains?” Damon asks.

The heretics slowly begin moving once more, fighting through and then absorbing Bonnie’s magic. 

“Witch,” Valerie exclaims. She throws her hand to the side, and launches Bonnie across the foyer and into the mahogany threshold leading to the great room.

A wave of nausea chills Bonnie’s skin, the room around her spinning at light speed. For a moment she can only see blackness, solid charcoal that she faintly perceives as whirling dizzily. When the colours spill back into her vision, they are an inside out rainbow of shimmery lights and gloomy shadows. For one frightening moment, Bonnie wonders if she’s gone blind or deaf, but the ringing in her ears seems to prove otherwise.

Damon watches Bonnie clutch her forehead with one hand and claw at the ground with the other. He plucks up a table leg, speeds over to Valerie, and clubs her in the back of the head with a thunderous smack.

Caroline approaches Beau, aiming a kick at his shin, which he deflects by snapping her neck.

Before Stefan is halfway to the third heretic, Malcolm flicks a wrist and launches the table leg from Damon’s hand and into his brother’s gut. He rotates his hand in the opposite direction, then curls it into a fist, breaking Stefan’s neck.

Through her swaying gaze, Bonnie watches as the two heretics left standing—Beau and Malcolm—focus their attention on Damon. The Salvatore offers an icy glare to his adversaries, but Bonnie sees he has nothing; no plan, no escape.

“I think he’s out of words,” Malcolm taunts.

“Oh, I’ve got a few,” Damon smirks. “Orphan. Psychopath. Fake Brit. Bottle-blond.”

Malcolm responds with a fist to the jaw.

“ ** _Incendia!_** ” Bonnie screams, throwing both arms directly into the air.

Flames erupt out of thin air, springing from the very fibres of Malcolm and Beau’s clothes. The panic in their eyes finds its way out of their mouths in shouts of terror and confusion.

Damon looks over to Bonnie, shock and annoyance warring for dominance in his brain. Not only had the little witch saved him, but now she’d made herself a prime target.

“Hey—” Damon starts as Beau absorbs the magic, eyes on Bonnie slumped in the corner. Malcolm interrupts Damon’s words by wrapping both hands around his throat.

Bonnie’s vision settles just in time to give her a clear view of Beau a few paces before her, about to deliver his final blow. The more she considers this moment, the more Bonnie realizes she should’ve predicted Damon would inadvertently lead to her death. Maybe her nightmare wasn’t meant to be literal; he didn’t have to feed on her or attack her to stop her heartbeat. All he had to do was be himself, poke the many bears that wanted poking, and she’d find some way to get caught in the crosshairs. How ironic that mere moments after denouncing their friendship, Bonnie would lose her life protecting him?

Beau squats before her, taking his time with the kill, no doubt. He reaches out a hand to catch Bonnie’s chin, and turns her face to his.

When their eyes meet, Bonnie feels a pulse of electricity shoot down her spine. Images flood her mind so quickly she can’t separate them; flashes of linens, of children, of blood. A pervading brightness surrounds the passing pictures, and the intensity leaves her breathless.

Beau recoils, his dark eyes moved by fear for the first time all night.

“Enough!”

Lily Salvatore looks on from the entrance with Enzo at her side. Her blue eyes take in the chaos before her; broken dishes and broken necks. Her three, conscious sons turn to look at her disapproving expression as she moves further into the foyer.

“Shame on you,” Lily scolds. Her eyes find Beau’s, and she sharpens then softens her tone, “I’d expect this from Malcolm, but you? Beau, _you_ know better.”

Malcolm drops his hands from Damon’s neck, and Damon pushes him back a full foot earning a hiss of contempt. 

“Get Valerie,” Lily focuses her tender eyes on Damon’s. “We’re leaving. And we’re sorry to have troubled you.”

“Hear that, Malcolm? Mother Dearest says the playdate’s over,” Damon taunts, eyes still on Lily’s. “Too bad, I was just getting warmed up.”

“Mate, quit while you’re ahead, eh?” Enzo suggests.

In a flash, Enzo puts Valerie over his shoulder and returns to Lily’s side. Beau and Malcolm start to retreat as well, never taking their eyes off Damon and Bonnie. Malcolm’s gaze shows pure hatred, something angry and dark that lives in the centre of his chest. The look on Beaus face, however, only betrays confusion and pain. He doesn’t spare a glance for Damon, but instead keeps his eyes on Bonnie as if by studying the plane of her face for a moment longer he could understand all that had transpired.

Damon looks from Bonnie to Beau and back again.

“Damon,” Lily says, catching his attention. “Don’t hold this against them.” 

“Don’t bet on it,” Damon replies. 

In the blink of an eye, they’re gone.

***

“No way,” Stefan grunts. He wraps a hand around the table leg protruding from his gut and pulls it out with force.

Matt had called Bonnie to let her know that the humans were all safe, if not a little shaken up. 

Over the summer while Bonnie, Damon, and Ric were abroad, the heretics had made it their job to instill fear and unrest in the citizens of Mystic Falls, so the presence of the supernatural was no longer the world’s best-kept-secret—or even the town’s. Caroline and Stefan had compelled everyone to leave town to avoid a bloodbath, but tonight’s little party had broken those rules long enough to put a lot of people in danger. Matt was growing frustrated by his inability to protect human life, and Bonnie had uttered a slapdash and consolatory ‘We’ll figure something out’ without really having any idea how they were going to get rid of this year’s immense supernatural threat.

Damon, on the other hand, had ideas.

“Why not?” Damon demands, watching his brother throw the bloodied block of wood onto the ground. 

“Do you not see this massive stake-shaped hole in your brother’s stomach?” Caroline exclaims. “If Lily hadn’t stepped in when she did, we’d all be dead.”

“We went up against the Originals, and won,” Damon argues. “Defeated Kai—more or less. Why do you think we can’t take out a couple of witchy vamps? Just because you two are off your game and fell for the old charge-at-me-and-I’ll-snap-your-neck bait?”

“Your selective memory is admirable,” Stefan notes dryly. He winces and sits next to Caroline, who puts an arm around his shoulder. “Damon, we’re just not stronger than them. It’s as simple as that. Going against them would be suicide.”

“So we’re just supposed to let them terrorize our town and drink our food? Oops, I mean _friends_ ,” Damon smirks at Caroline, earning a sigh of disgust and frustration.

“Look, you don’t know what it’s been like while you were gone,” Caroline explains. “The town’s changed. Everything’s changed. Of course we want it back to the way it was, the way it used to be. But that’s not going to happen overnight. And it’s not going to happen with some harebrained Damon Salvatore attack plan. Sorry.”

“And when did Vampire Barbie become such an expert on attack strategy and black ops?” Damon narrows his eyes at the blonde. “Was it before or _after_ you turned off your humanity and brought my brother along for the ride? Jog my memory.”

“That’s enough, Damon,” Stefan closes his eyes and raises his voice. “Caroline’s right. You don’t know what they’re capable of, not like we do. Besides, it’s two against one.”

“One against one,” Damon corrects. “Since you two share a brain, and not a very big one by the looks of it.”

Damon glances at Bonnie, who has been sitting on the ground with her head on the sofa quietly. The slightly distant and cloudy look in her eyes makes Damon frown, especially when he considers the amount of damage being thrown into a wall might have on a living, breathing human. She’d told them all she was fine, but he could see now that that was a noble and stupid exaggeration.

“Bon Bon,” Damon snaps, watching her look over to him. “Break the tie: you in or out?”

Normally, on matters of love and war, Bonnie would side with Damon. They both shared a fierce and unbridled energy for pursuing that which they believed was right—they only differed, typically, on what those things were. The town she had loved was under siege, and part of Bonnie was being drawn back to the front lines to defend the honour of Mystic Falls and all who inhabited this region of West Virginia. She wanted to attack the heretics before they could attack her and her friends, or drink anymore innocent human blood. This was their small piece of Earth to live for and die for, to protect, and to rule—in their way. And their way was fair, it had to be. Elena would want it to be fair.

But as these thoughts and vague notions of nationalism began to take root in Bonnie’s heart, she knew these ideals were just more of the toxic and all-consuming loyalty to Mystic Falls that had proven so destructive in the past. Loving and fighting for this town had cost all four of them in this room their lives at least once. And Bonnie was done losing; she had to be. Elena would want her to stop losing. 

So, for herself and for her best friend, Bonnie wasn’t going to get involved in another supernatural fight to the death. She was going to get away, once and for all.

“Out,” Bonnie replies.

A silence settles over the room, everyone waiting for Bonnie to expand on her stance as she ordinarily would. 

“Out?” Damon repeats, incredulity sitting between his brows. No matter how angry she was with him, voting against his attack plan when they both knew it was the only way to get ahead of the heretics was completely out of character.

“Out,” Bonnie repeats. She sighs. “Just…what’s the point, Damon? It’s not going to fix anything. I’m out. Just out.”

Bonnie stands up and leaves the living room without a backwards glance. The second she sets her foot upon the first step leading upstairs, Damon is at her side shooting daggers at her.

“Clearly you’re in worse shape than I thought if you’re siding with those two,” he starts. “Was it Valerie knocking you around like a football, or whatever the tall-and-silent one did?”

“It’s not about sides,” Bonnie retorts. “It’s about me. For once, it’s about me. And I don’t want to do this. So I’m not going to.”

“Bonnie…” Damon growls, as she starts to go up the steps. When she looks back he schools all of his rage and channels it into one pointed question. “How’s your head?”

“Fine,” she tosses back.

“I think you might be a worse liar than Elena,” Damon teases. He pops out his fangs and slices into his arm, holding up the bleeding slab of scarlet against ivory for Bonnie to see. “Better than Tylenol.”

“Gross,” Bonnie grimaces at Damon’s version of an olive-branch.

“You can’t be Superwitch with a concussion, Bon,” Damon warns. He shrugs, “Let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” Bonnie shakes her head in revulsion. “Damon, I don’t want _anything_ from you.”

Bonnie heads up the stairs, leaving Damon bleeding and bewildered in the foyer.

***

The next morning, consistent with Damon’s prediction, the Tylenol Bonnie took before bed proves to have had little to no effect on the throbbing in her head. The morning light proudly streaming in through the gossamer curtains didn’t help much either. Ironically enough, Bonnie always chose this guest room when staying with the Salvatores because of how open, light, and warm it felt; there was something decidedly human and inviting about this space. Now, she’d give anything for the dark, cool, and cave-like feeling of the brothers’ bedrooms. At least then, her head wouldn’t be pounding with quite as much malice as it was right now.

“‘Come to the party’ they said,” Bonnie mutters to herself. “‘It’ll be fun’ they said.”

She starts to turn over, wondering if she can still the thumping in her brain by laying directly on her forehead, when she hears the quiet vibration of her phone on the bedside table. Sightlessly, she slaps around until she feels cool metal and glass in her palm.

“Hello?” 

Good morning, Miss Bennett,” came the voice of someone who was altogether too cheery for nine in the morning. “It’s Ava Locklear from Locklear Real Estate. We spoke a few days ago via email about the property you’re looking to sell? Is this a bad time?”

Bonnie unpeels the thin sheet off of her body, groaning as she sits up and tries to bring her voice brightness up at least a semitone.

“No, no, it’s a good time,” Bonnie squeezes her eyes shut as tightly as possible and tries to form a useful or, at least, coherent thought. “Is everything okay with the house?”

“Absolutely. There _are_ , however, a few issues we ought to discuss in person _just_ to make sure we and the potential buyers are on the same page.”

Bonnie mouths a curse word.

“Of course,” she says instead. 

“Are you free this morning?”

“Yup, I sure am,” Bonnie grins, trying to add joviality to her voice. She needed Ava to like her; enough to sell this house, and enough to do it quick. “I can be anywhere in fifteen minutes.”

“Great, what do you say we meet at the site?”

“On my way, see you soon.”

Hopping out of bed, Bonnie grimaces. The concussion symptoms, already so pleasant when horizontal, were only becoming more and more difficult to ignore. 

Unzipping her duffel, she grabs the first two things she sees—a pair of denim shorts and a grey tank top. While she dresses, she wonders if she should’ve taken Damon’s blood after all.

No, she thinks. Taking Damon’s blood would have been like forgiving him. And that wasn’t what she wanted to do. If anything, she could just ask Caroline or Stefan for a little boost to help her regain her footing. But even that went against what she knew in her heart was right. She’d gotten hurt again because she was with vampires— _again_. The pain would serve as a reminder that there could be no peace for her in Mystic Falls. The only option was to get out and try to live as normal a life as she could possibly expect.

But even outside of the vampires, Bonnie had to accept that she wasn’t ordinary. She couldn’t use her friends to explain away everything that had happened. With or without a vampire entourage, Bonnie was a witch, and a Bennett witch at that. It got her into a lot of trouble on its own, and it would do her good to remember that some conflict was born in her bones, would always find a way to make a mess of things.

Bonnie runs a hand through her hair, plucks up her purse, and allows herself to think about the thing she’d been trying to put out of her mind since last night. Beau. 

That heretic had some sort of connection to her; something that had surprised both of them when he’d grabbed her. The more time that passed, the hazier her recollection of those visions became. She could recall the shift in temperature, the jump from warmth to that bone-chilling ice cold, but that was all. Whatever they’d seen, now it lived in his mind alone.

Bonnie was actually surprised Damon hadn’t pressed her about it. One minute, Beau was about to rip her to shreds, and the next he’d completely frozen up. But maybe Damon hadn’t noticed the significance or—more likely still—maybe he didn’t care. Either way, Bonnie knew that this new development didn’t bode well for her. Whatever bond she had with Beau would only make her quick and quiet farewell that much louder and lengthier.

Bonnie’s exit from the Salvatore home, however, was as quick and quiet as she’d hoped. Wearing her darkest and most dramatic sunglasses, she starts the ten-minute walk to her old house. 

“I was hoping it would be you,” Enzo greets her from behind. 

She whips around to face him, aggravating her headache and flinching. Enzo’s mouth is already spread into a triumphant and malevolent scowl.

When Bonnie only stares at him with loathing, Enzo explains, “The Salvatores would’ve killed me by now.” 

“And what makes you think I won’t?” 

“You don’t have the juice, Love,” He tilts his head towards her, adding, “I hear Val cracked your head like an egg last night. You’re lucky to be alive.” 

“And you’re lucky I’m late,” Bonnie turns away, and continues towards her dad’s place.

“Let’s walk and talk, then,” Enzo falls in step with her, much to her dismay. “The weather is quite brilliant this morning.”

“What do you want?” Bonnie snaps. She lowers her voices after the tension pang hits. “Weren’t you on Lily’s side yesterday?”

“Still am,” Enzo admits. “Which is why we need to get rid of the rest of them.”

“What?” Bonnie’s lengthy eye roll accompanies her grimace of exasperation.

Here we go, she thinks.

“You know as well as I do that the lot of them are going to rip this town apart sooner or later, spraying little bits and pieces of your friends wherever they go,” Enzo gesticulates from left to right for emphasis. “And then you and your band of Merry Men—and Damon—are going to have to put them down. Wouldn’t you rather deal with all of this _before_ poor Matthew’s head is roasting on a spit?”

“This sounds like a setup,” Bonnie speaks plainly. “Enzo, you’re not exactly known for your honesty. So, forgive me if I don’t buy this selfless thing you’re selling.”

“It’s not selfless,” Enzo tells her, shrugging. “It’s completely selfish. Lily can’t see them clearly. Her heart is too good, too full of love and optimism. She wants to believe in them, and so she does. She refuses to see what they really are. Absolutely refuses. But when the truth comes out, it will destroy her. And Mystic Falls. And I reckon she’s been through enough.”

Bonnie stops walking, and aims a curious look at Enzo. The man, not typically one for long emotional appeals—unless, of course, he was recounting his time with the Augustine Society—was going on and on about Lily Salvatore.

“So it’s not that you want them taken ‘out’, exactly, just out of the picture,” Bonnie surmises. When Enzo’s jaw tightens, Bonnie adds, “You love her. You want her for yourself.”

“There are a lot of things I want,” Enzo replies. “But this, this is different.” He waits a beat, staring directly into Bonnie’s eyes, even through the dark veneer of her glasses. “Bonnie, there’s a reason witches don’t get to keep their magic after they’ve turned.”

A shudder runs down Bonnie’s spine. 

Of all the caveats delicately bound and packaged in the rules of the supernatural universe, this was the one that Bonnie thought about most often. She had, momentarily and desperately, considered turning after what Kai had done to Elena. Out of the insurmountable grief of not ever being able to see her best friend again, of being the one person on Earth whose right to life conflicted with Elena’s, Bonnie had thought the unthinkable. But two things had prevented her from taking action. First, Kai’s ‘no loopholes’ clause, which filled her with the fear that if she were to become undead instead, something worse would happen to Elena. And, more than that, Bonnie’s own aversion towards the idea of a life without magic.

It was selfish, Bonnie knew, to choose herself over Elena in this way. And so she never spoke a word of it, not to anyone. Magic was her only remaining connection to Grams, to all those that she had lost and who had paved the way for her. Without it, Bonnie wondered who she’d be. And still, Bonnie felt that it was right; that vampires should _not_ be able to touch something as pure and sacred as magic. That they would not know what to do with such power, other than destroy.

Yet, as Enzo pointed out, the heretics existed. And their very existence went against every rule in the supernatural handbook.

“No,” Bonnie shakes her head vehemently and continues walking. “No, absolutely not. I _refuse_ to get tied up in your ‘All’s Fair in Love and War’ soap opera. If you want an ally, find Damon. I don’t spill blood for Salvatores anymore.” She looks at him scathingly. “And I have _never_ spilled blood for you.”

Enzo’s face goes cold, the light behind his eyes fading into absentia.

Within a moment, he himself disappears. 

***

“You’re spilling blood _everywhere_!”

Damon flicks his sleepy gaze to Caroline’s exasperated one.

The blood bag Damon had just pulled out of the microwave and tore into now dribbles its contents down his chin and onto his bare chest. He tilts his head back, attempting to catch as much as possible in his mouth.

“Last I checked, Blondie, this was my kitchen, not yours,” Damon retorts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “If you want to nag someone, find the _other_ Salvatore.” He tosses the empty blood bag into the sink, gives Caroline a look, “And keep those grubby little paws off of the O-neg. It’s mine.”

“Jeez, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Caroline remarks. She turns back towards the stove and removes the hissing kettle from the heated element.

“It’s not about my _bed_ , it’s about the fact that microwaved AB tastes like shit.”

“Definitely grumpy,” Caroline decides in singsong. She pours the hot water over camomile teabags in two, wide white mugs. “Well, I’m not in the mood to argue with you and spoil this beautiful day. I’m sure Bonnie will have more interesting things to say, anyway.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Damon says the words to Caroline’s back and blonde, bouncing curls. When Caroline only offers him a quizzical look, he shrugs, brushes past her, and says, “She’s not here.”

He’d heard her leave while drifting in and out of sleep, the shuffle of her sandals against the oak floors of the boarding house soft but persistent. Damon had contemplated surprising her at the kitchen exit he was sure she’d use in the hopes of avoiding him, but he’d changed his mind when he remembered the exact placement and intonation of the words she’d tossed at him from the staircase last night.

_Damon, I don’t want anything from you._

It echoed in his pneumatic mind, emptied and hollowed by copious amounts of alcohol consumption and the irritability caused by being back in Mystic Falls without her. Damon only wanted to think of Elena; of all the time he was missing with her; of the way her presence made him feel right, and whole, and solid. But instead, his mind was filled with annoying thoughts of Bonnie, and the mild worry that he had somehow really screwed things up with _her_.

Maybe he had taken her for granted. But who hadn’t? It didn’t mean they cared about her any less, it just meant they understood her, that they all understood one another. If they needed magic, they called on Bonnie. If they needed someone dead, they called on Damon. If they needed someone to feel guilty and brood? Stefan. And if they needed someone to score that game-winning touchdown, Matt was always at the ready.

She’d surprised him, though. He’d give her that. Damon had foolishly believed that he could charm her into anything just like everybody else. He’d forgotten that for the first four years or so, she’d been adamantly opposed to everything he did, had been the only one to see him without a grain of salt. But he didn’t want her to think of him that way anymore, even if she’d been right. He wanted her on his side again.

But that wasn’t going to happen in this lifetime, and frankly this lifetime was all they had left.

The hot spray from the showerhead hits Damon’s face like it’s the only pure and clean thing left in the world. He picks up the white bar soap from the tray and starts to lather, attempting to physically scrub the restlessness out of his skin. 

There was something terrible going on inside of him, something powerful and impossible to shake. His agitation had the tendency to manifest in outbursts of extreme violence, impulsive words and actions that could not be explained away. Without something good and solid to anchor him, he would need some form of an outlet. He would need some way to contain what was brewing in his heart, what threatened to spill out of his mouth or out of his hands and cause ruin to the world around him. 

Damon towels off with this knowledge in his brain. After donning a classic pair of dark jeans with a black V-neck, Damon decides to try something radical. With a piece of paper in one hand and a ballpoint pen in the other, Damon attempts to write a letter.

For years, Stefan had used writing as an outlet to curb his own inner demons. In fact, the younger Salvatore probably had a book of his thoughts and fears for every year of his unnaturally long life. Even Elena had kept a journal; it had been one of those completely meaningless shared hobbies that she and Stefan had probably connected over in those early days of their courtship. 

Damon wanted to be able to give Elena something when she came back. He wanted to have some record of how he’d spent his time without her, some meaning he could translate to her through written word to make her feel like she hadn’t missed out on so much; like she hadn’t missed out on anything at all.

But as he sat there with the pen in hand, he realized he was not Stefan. He didn’t have any words worthy of being immortalized on that paper, worthy of her even. He was so damned inadequate in comparison to them both. 

He pours himself four fingers of bourbon, throws it back, and attempts again:

_~~Dear Elena~~ _

_~~Elena~~ _

_~~Dear Elena~~ _

_Elena Gilbert,_

_~~I’m not really sure how to start this~~ _

_~~I don’t know what to tell you~~ _

_~~I’m thinking of hiding Stefan’s hair gel and seeing how long it takes him to go completely homicidal.~~ _

_~~Words can’t explain how much I miss you.~~ _

_You are the best thing about me._

Every sentence he put down on paper felt, at once, to be too much and not enough.

Frustrated, he throws the glass hard against the wall, watching it shatter with satisfaction.

Damon picks up the bottle of perfectly aged bourbon, and puts it to his lips. The warm spice of his favourite drink calms him like a pacifier would a child. He gulps the deep honey coloured liquor until it’s nearly empty; until the accompanying burn is lost on him; until his mind feels softer and much improved. 

Crumpling the paper, Damon shrugs off his failure. 

Writing wasn’t his outlet; it would never be his outlet. 

The only way for him to feel peace was to beat it out of somebody else.

So, Damon decides, he’ll follow his instincts, do a house call, and get three for the price of one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for your comments so please feel free!!  
> Sorry I'm lazy and write once a year :(


	5. Rebels With A Cause

“I’m not mad anymore, I forgive you,” Bonnie says, tenderness warming her eyes and softening her words. “I forgive you for everything.”

Between Enzo asking her to stage some sort of supernatural coup and her real estate agent asking her questions she barely understood, Bonnie had given up hope that today was going to be uneventful and painless. She had wanted to go back to the Salvatore house and spend the next nine—or twelve—hours in bed resting, watching movies with Caroline and pretending the overwhelming pile of problems that laid before her didn’t exist. But that would’ve been too kind, too much like self-pity or self-indulgence. Instead of trying to sleep the day away, Bonnie decided to be an adult and fix something important to her before it broke beyond repair.

“Just don’t lie to me,” Bonnie crosses her arms over her chest. “ _Ever_ again. Okay?”

Ric sighs, runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, and starts to pour a glass of bourbon.

“Uh uh,” Bonnie chastises, tilting the bottle upright. She pulls the glass across the table, towards herself and away from him. “You’re not gonna drench your brain in alcohol and numb yourself to everything. You’re not Damon, you’re better than that.”

Alaric’s jaw sets at this comparison, but he makes no move to retrieve the tumbler.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bonnie asks softly.

The look in Ric’s eyes hardens. With both hands laid motionlessly upon the table, he does not attempt to speak.

“Did you think I wouldn’t understand? Or…or wouldn’t help you?” She angles her head towards him, leaning in and forcing Ric to meet her gaze. “I get why you didn’t tell Damon but, why did you keep it from me?”<.p>

“Because, Bonnie, you _wouldn’t_ understand,” Ric shakes his head as if he’s had this conversation more times than he can count. “And you _wouldn’t_ help me.”

“What?”

“Come on. You?” Ric chuckles without humour. “You always play by the rules. And I knew that it was…that what I was doing was unnatural. That it goes against every rule ever written in every book. And I knew if I told you you’d just try to stop me.”

Bonnie felt as if she’d been struck. 

“That’s not true,” Bonnie shakes her head vehemently. “I—I loved Jo. I would—”

“I know you did. Like you loved your dad, and your grandmother, and Sheriff Forbes,” Ric explains. “But it doesn’t change anything. You still believe what’s dead should stay dead.”

“Well don’t you?” Bonnie’s incredulous eyes scan Ric’s.

Of all the people she’d known in Mystic Falls, Alaric was one of the few left that still had a heartbeat; that was still a living, breathing human being. He’d even been a hunter, advocating for the laws of nature to prevail, for an end to the complications caused by supernatural ties. Even when he himself was a vampire, he’d been hell-bent on expunging that very species from existence. And yet after all they’d been through, here he was—willing to sell his soul to black magic, and condemning her for being unable to do the same.

“I do,” Alaric responds without missing a beat. He pulls the confiscated glass of bourbon back to his side of the table and looks at it thoughtfully. Ric drinks its contents, shakes his head decisively, “But not her. Not Jo, and not my kids.”

“How can you…?” Bonnie folds her hands together in her lap, pressing them between her thighs. She pauses, searching for the best way to phrase her question. “How can you look at your own situation in a way that is just completely and fundamentally different from how you look at the rest of the world?”

“How can you not?” He asks.

Bonnie widens her eyes.

“No, you did…once,” Ric corrects himself before she can speak. “Jeremy.”

Bonnie’s skin flushes at the memory, hot shame burning in her gut.

It was years ago, but she could still remember everything. She’d put down Silas, then died resurrecting Jeremy. She’d horrified Grams’ spirit with her utter lack of respect for the laws of nature, going against the warning that nothing was strong enough to reverse death. 

But she had been. 

_Just_ strong enough to bring him back, and die in the process.

“I was…temporarily insane from Expression magic, I had a God complex. That doesn’t count,” Bonnie brushed it off. She didn’t like to think of herself when that dark magic had taken hold of her. She’d been so out of control, so unaware of the great risk she posed to her friends. So goddamn stupid. 

“So you wouldn’t do it again?”

“I couldn’t,” Bonnie shrugs. “Even if I wanted to. I’m not strong enough anymore, and frankly, I don’t know what is.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Ric leans in towards her. “Would you do it again?”

For a moment, Bonnie hates Alaric for making her say it out loud.

“Of course I would,” Bonnie raises her voice in annoyance, hands splayed in exasperation. “You _know_ I would. I don’t regret it, and I can’t imagine being alive in a world where Jeremy isn’t. But that doesn’t mean it’s right. In fact, I think what it means is that I have a lot of growing up to do.”

“So you’re saying that I need to grow out of loving my wife?” Ric’s voice is soft, without even a hint of rage, though Bonnie wouldn’t have blamed him for it.

“I’m saying I’m not a moral compass, Alaric,” Bonnie corrects. She reaches out a hand and places it over his. She wanted to comfort him, to let him know that she understood. But she also wanted him to listen, needed him to listen. “Not for you, or for anyone.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Bonnie. You’ve always been the moral compass around here.”

Something about the way he spat those words out made Bonnie feel dirty. He’d said it like she was the metric for appropriate Mystic Falls behaviour, the holier-than-thou rule-maker around which others broke and bent. And though she’d be the first to admit she had more moral hang-ups than Elena and Caroline combined, she didn’t think anyone really took her opinions into account. She wasn’t in charge, never had been.

Shaking her head, Bonnie refuses this statement. “You’re confusing me with Elena.”

“No, you are,” Ric’s eyes sharpen on her. “You’re forgetting.”

“Forgetting what?”

“Yourself.”

Stunned, Bonnie stares at Ric in silence.

“You’re denying how powerful you are, and the influence you have on others. Elena, Caroline, Stefan, me, even Damon. And I don’t know why.” Before Bonnie can respond, Ric pulls his gaze away from hers. Falling into a more conversational tone, he shrugs and pours another drink, “Look, if you wanted an apology, you won’t get one. I’m not sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m not sorry for what I tried to do. And I’m not sorry I called Damon out on his bullshit yesterday.”

“Ric, I don’t want an apology, I want you to let me help,” Bonnie insists. She’d have to evaluate what he’d just said later on her own time.

“Nothing is going to help me except getting her back,” Ric fixes his eyes on Bonnie’s with such a ferocity that she can’t help but believe it.

“Okay,” She reaches for his glass of bourbon and drinks it. As stunned by her words as Ric, Bonnie nods her head and agrees, “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“What?” for all his griping, he hadn’t expected this.

“Look, you’re the second person today to tell me who I am, what I stand for, and what I’ll do,” Bonnie explains. “But you’re wrong, both of you. You underestimate how much I’m willing to do for the people I love, how much I want to see you happy.”

It didn’t matter if she was leaving Mystic Falls today, tomorrow, or in twenty years. Bonnie realized that she had to follow her heart sometimes; not always for the greater good, but sometimes for her friends. And she would never be able to forgive herself if she left Ric miserable and alone. It just wasn’t something she could do. 

“Besides—magic? Magic’s kind of my thing.” Bonnie teases. “So we’ll do this. We’ll bring her back.”

Ric nods resolutely, his eyes lighting for the first time. “We’ll bring her back.”

***

The surreal feeling of gliding down the deserted streets of Mystic Falls coupled with mild intoxication gave Damon a new lease on life. Quiet, lonesome drives taking in all the sights of their quaint little town were rare treats typically reserved for late night joyrides. But with the heretics in charge, every Sam or Suzy driving to work or taking the kids to soccer practice was conveniently relocated. Damon took the opportunity to push his ’69 Camaro to its limits, the treetops lining the road blurring into brilliant green streams of light.

As he whips around a bend, soft grunge whispers through the speakers and takes him back to the 1994 prison world. He supposed that that was another occasion when he’d had free reign of the roads at any time of day.

But time itself had moved differently then.

He and Bonnie had spent hours making pancakes and listening to music in the kitchen, or drinking bourbon and dancing in the living room, but the isolation in that world had made everything feel infinitely longer. Still, Damon couldn’t help but reflect, it hadn’t been all bad; Bonnie was good company when they weren’t bickering—and even sometimes when they were. Of all the people he could’ve been trapped with for eternity, she was an easy second choice.

Not wanting to depress himself with thoughts of the past, Damon fiddles with the radio until he lands on an 80s pop station playing Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”. He sets the volume to blaring and screams along, searching Mystic Falls for any sign of vampire life. He didn’t know where his mother and her orphanage had decided to squat, but if every house in Mystic Falls was empty and up for grabs, he had a pretty good idea of where to start looking.

A vibration in the pocket of his jeans narrowly saves Damon from shattering his vocal box on the key change. 

He reads the message:

STEFAN: _Don’t be an idiot. Come home._

“Aw,” Damon gushes sarcastically, tossing the phone into the backseat without a second thought.

When he gets to Lockwood mansion, he shuts the engine off.

The architecture, the size, the location; it was the first place he’d pick if the family home was taken and he was hell-bent on staying in Mystic Falls. The Lockwoods had always been a powerful founding family, and Damon felt that his mother had admired the luxuries they enjoyed just like everyone else had. Although he didn’t see much—or any—of himself in Lillian, his gut had brought him to what he deemed to be the pinnacle of wealth and sophistication in town. And if the swish of brown hair passing through a window on the east wing was any indication, his gut had been right.

Without a real plan in place, he strides up to the entrance and walks in.

Damon Salvatore was not someone who over-planned or overcomplicated matters. Especially not when he was delightfully tipsy. He could admit that this recent act of heroism stemmed more from a desire to outrun himself than a desire to put Mystic Falls back on its feet again, but that didn’t change a thing. His plan was the same as it had been the night before; show up and kill everyone. He didn’t exactly have the stats on how many heretics Lily had broken out of that prison world, nor did he quite understand how to deflect their magic. But still, he wasn’t afraid.

Something in his bones turned fear into adrenaline, adrenaline into power. It was remaining idle, waiting for things to fall into place or people to fall into line that made him nervous, anxious. Weak.

So Bonnie, Stefan, and Caroline didn’t want to follow him to the ends of the earth.

So what?

Anything they could do, he could do bloodier.

Sauntering through the foyer, Damon heads to the drawing room on the east side.

Warm, tan walls accompanied by deep, brown wood, and dark, gleaming leather modernized this space in the Lockwood mansion. It managed to look fresh and utilitarian while also evoking the prestige and tradition affiliated with the Lockwood name. The antiques carefully dispersed throughout the room, the delicate, vintage sketches framed and hung—all of it screamed of good, old-fashioned Southern aristocracy. <.p>

The ladies on the sofa, however, looked a little out of place.

Upon his entrance, the brunette turns her head to face him with her hazel eyes maliciously bored, her legs draped over a blonde. The blonde sits on the couch with her back just a little too straight, everything about her movements suggesting that she’s uncomfortably bound in a corset—or at the very least, used to being uncomfortably bound in a corset. Her hands rest on the brunette’s legs, but pull away when the brunette’s fingers try to interlock.

“You are not my mother,” Damon says matter-of-factly. Gazing at the brunette for a moment too long, he finishes with, “You are _stunning_. But not my mother.”

“Well, well, well,” says the brunette with the beginning of a smile tickling the corners of her mouth. “I like this one better already.”

“Shall I leave you two alone, then?” the blonde asks coldly, her posture prickling even more.

“Oh, Mary Louise, don’t be a bore,” the brunette waves off the comment quite quickly with devilish enthusiasm focused on Damon. “I’m Nora. Damon, right? Looking for mum?”

“Not exactly,” Damon admits. “Just thought I’d come around and get to meeting you all.” He shrugs, purses his lips, and looks between the two of them before leaning in gregariously as if relaying some secret to eager listeners, “Would've done it sooner, but I’ve been on vacation.”

“The only reason you’re still standing before us is because we’ve been asked not to kill you,” Mary Louise’s eyes skim over Damon without ever really landing on him.

“Asked,” Nora emphasizes, still smirking, “Not told.”

“I was asked the same thing, small world,” Damon muses.

He walks towards the bar next to the bookshelf, a place he and dear Tyler probably would’ve liked to have a drink and a quick chat during parties if they could stand one another. Uncapping the bottle of bourbon, he takes a drink, admiring the flavour.

“I’m curious, was your brother fool enough to tell you where we were?” Mary Louise questions.

“Nope, I’m just a smart cookie,” Damon quips. He looks around, “Besides, this is Lily’s style. A woman of taste, if not a woman of principle.”

“A man with balls, if not a man with brains,” Nora responds, earning a wince from Mary Louise.

“Sweetheart, if you want to talk about my balls at least wait for your girlfriend to leave the room,” Damon grins, squinting and widening his eyes suggestively. In a faux-whisper, he adds, “Or we can ask her to.”

Nora collapses into a bright laugh, but Mary Louise is less than impressed. She pushes Nora’s legs off of her and rises. Ready to come to blows, Mary Louise strides towards Damon while Nora continues to giggle affectionately.

“Don’t take the bait, Love,” Enzo remarks, entering with Val. He looks at Damon almost pitifully, “He can’t help but be a wanker, that’s just who he is.”

“Enzo, my favourite turncoat,” Damon beams. Looking to Valerie, he says, “Val-Val, how’s the head?”

“Better than Bonnie’s,” Enzo answers for her. “How is the little witch?”

“Filed under: don’t know, don’t care,” Damon takes another swig of bourbon. He tilts his head to the side, “How did Mother Dearest get this place from Matt and Tyler, anyway?”

“She asked,” Enzo declares simply.

“Oh, ‘asked’, right,” Damon rolls his eyes, nodding along sarcastically.

“Perhaps if you were not so determined to see Lily as some sort of villainess you could understand how persuasive reason and logic can be,” Mary Louise suggests. “It might come in handy someday.”

“Kill first, ask questions never,” Damon counters, winking flirtatiously at her.

“Where’s the brigade?” Enzo peers behind Damon, then groans. “Mate…you didn’t really come here on your own, did you?”

“Not alone, I sang with Whitney in the car,” Damon corrects. He takes another drink, his mind tilting towards a level of violence he had tried to suppress inside himself for years. “Look, let’s not mince words, folks. I’m here to…well, I guess, kill you. All. Just to be clear.”

“Oh, he’s something,” Nora marvels, finally rising to stand next to Mary Louise. She places her hand on the blonde’s hip and draws her close. Though Mary Louise doesn’t push her off, she doesn’t seem all that pleased either. “Does he remind you of her?”

“No, the other one has her mind,” Val answers.

Damon takes note of the look of hostility Nora and Mary Louise shoot her way.

“This one just has her eyes,” Valerie finishes.

“Yet if he so much as breathes upon us in a way that displeases me,” Mary Louise says, her green eyes hardening on Damon. “I shall be forced to pluck them right out.”

“Damon, we’ve done nothing wrong,” Enzo says, moving to stand next to him. He places a hand on his shoulder, “Lily’s made sure of it.” Whispering, he gives Damon a look of warning, “You’re just gonna get yourself killed, mate. Bugger off.”

“Damon!” Stefan shouts.

Looking behind him, Damon sees his brother and his little blonde accessory running in through the foyer. The look of fear and annoyance on both of their faces earns a loud, heaving laugh from the eldest Salvatore.

“The brigade,” Nora grins with excitement. She strokes Mary Louise’s cheek playfully, crinkling her nose and adding, “Rather small.”

“Frighteningly small,” Mary Louise agrees. “I doubt he even knows what to do with it.”

“Okay, euphemisms!” Damon shouts at them in irritation. He looks back to Stefan and Caroline, “Who called Greg and Carol Brady? This was invite only.”

“Crumpled letters, shattered bourbon bottles,” Stefan drones as he walks towards his brother. “Pretty much a textbook Damon-Salvatore-cry-for-help if you ask me.”

“Funny, I don’t remember asking,” Damon answers, grinning widely. 

“Sorry, everyone, my brother’s drunk,” Stefan sighs, “We’ll take him off your hands.”

“What if that’s where they want me,” Damon squints at his brother, then turns to look at Nora. “Actually, I think this one wants me somewhere else.”

Mary Louise with fangs retracting starts to raise a hand towards Damon. Already prepared for this, Damon hurls the bottle of bourbon at her temple, curving his wrist. Her head whips all the way to the right, and she immediately crumples to the ground.

“Whoops,” Damon says to no one in particular. “Butterfingers.”

***

She hadn’t meant to come here, but here she was.

On her trek back to the Salvatores after enjoying a little too much bourbon with Ric, Bonnie had taken the long route to enjoy a rare display of solitude in Mystic Falls. In her whole life, Bonnie had never seen the town this way in the middle of the day. Without the children congregating in the playgrounds or people passing to and fro on the streets, it felt strangely dreamlike. And in Bonnie’s case, nightmare-like.

She had spent more than a year trapped in isolation, craving the comfort of companionship. Her mind had been irrevocably altered by that period of inescapable seclusion. Bonnie supposed she’d spent so much of the last few years in survival mode, handling whatever was thrown her way and not giving much thought to the consequences. Ric’s reminder of what she’d sacrificed for Jeremy was only proof of that. 

Being imprisoned in an empty dimension had forced her to live with and live _in_ some of the bad decisions she’d made over the years, some of the losses she’d experienced, and some of the trauma she’d never addressed. And, when Kai had forced that blade into her stomach and left her for dead, the prison world had also brought about some new traumas.

She never told Damon back then, but when she’d disappear for hours in the middle of the day she would always come here.

Sheila Bennett’s house with its peaked roof and simple, white columns called to Bonnie like a beacon of hope and happiness. Both now and in 1994, the house had that same Grams-like feel to it. The smell of her jasmine perfume pervaded every room except the kitchen, which would forever be associated with the scent of cooked food and spiced rum. Back when Bonnie was a child, Grams would host a lot of family events, drawing in relatives from all over the United States. Though things got quieter over the years, those memories of community were the foundation on which Bonnie developed her own values.

Family sticks together.

Whether it’s the family you’re born into or the family you pick for yourself. It was what she valued most; why she would give anything to protect her friends, and why she was going to bring Jo back for Ric, no matter what.

Bonnie climbs the dark wood steps to the porch, thinking about all the times she and Grams had enjoyed sweet tea in those white rocking chairs, the paint now chipped and fading.

Though remembering the loss of her grandmother would always hurt, there was power in memories, power that lived in the past and could be harnessed. Grams had been the one to teach her that.

A wave of nausea rolls over Bonnie as she enters the house. She decides that pairing a concussion with day-drinking was probably not the best way to a speedy recovery.

Standing with her eyes closed and a hand braced against the threshold, Bonnie recalls a jewellery box in the attic full of letters and old witches’ remedies that never made it into a grimoire. Since she had no intention of taking vampire blood to cure her ailments and medicine wasn’t doing the trick, maybe she’d try something mystical instead.

When she gets upstairs and unlocks the attic door, it creaks open ever so slightly and lets a ray of warm sunlight into the hallway. Bonnie pushes the door fully open and enters the stuffy heat trapped at the top of her grandmother’s house, like always. But this attic was unlike anyone else’s. Grams’ had kept all the relics from her past, and the pasts of previous generations of Bennett witches locked away neatly, despite the sheer quantity of it all. There was probably two-hundred years’ worth of history packed up here, but nothing was out of place.

With nostalgia tickling her fingertips, she opens the dark, oak chest containing dresses and patterns belonging to her great grandmother, Amelia Bennett. In the delicate jewellery box, Bonnie recalls the pages and pages of letters written by such women as Marie Bennett, and even Emily Bennett herself. Further still, old furniture that was no longer in use—such as the antique chaise where Bonnie liked to sit and read—turned the attic into a time capsule of Bennett memories and possessions.

Everything that had ever happened to the witches in her line could be found between these four walls, and examined under the light from the picture window.

Retrieving the jewellery box, Bonnie sits cross-legged on the chaise, admiring the gold swirls and symbols that embellish the dark wood. She relishes this opportunity to connect with witches for once; witches instead of vampires or humans or siphoners. Bonnie grins to herself at the thought of all the Bennett women who had held this very box in their own hands to seek the same information she now sought. 

She sifts through the letters now, reading messages that the Bennett witches received, else letters they wrote that were returned to their kin upon their death. Her quest for the anti-migraine spell comes to an abrupt halt when she stumbles upon some of Emily Bennett’s letters.

She reads a letter to Emily dated May of 1864:

_Dear Emily,_

_I write you to say Earl may not visit with us in the summer. I know how dearly you love your brother, but his strangeness scares the children some. If he cannot find work on the field, I beg you ask that nice Missus of yours to do something for him._

_Regards,_

_Loretta_

Then another from June of the same year:

_Dearest Emily_

_You ask too much of us. New York has not been so kind to our family, and little Bessie Ann has fallen ill. We do not got much between us, but we love dear Beau as much as you. I will write you next month if we can send for him._

_Sincerely,_

_Mary Beth_

Bonnie feels her skin go cold.

She rereads the letter three times, then the previous one.

Emily’s brother Earl and someone called Beau, both in need of a summer home in 1864?

She jumps up from the sofa, striding over to the old bookshelf Grams’ father had built. She searches the shelves for the old atlas with the large family tree folded and tucked away between the pages. Withdrawing it, Bonnie lays it carefully on the floor. She scans the lines of the tree, and locates Emily Bennett’s name almost immediately. She presses her finger against the embellished cursive print, follows the line up to Emily’s mother, Adelaide, and then down to her son.

Earl Bennett.

Born four years after Emily, with just an open dash after his birthday.

No date of death. No marriage. No children.

Bonnie skims some of the other Bennett lines around Emily’s, wondering if Beau could’ve been a cousin or some other relation. But that wouldn’t make sense; Emily wasn’t from Mystic Falls, she’d relocated here with Katherine.

Confused, Bonnie dumps the letters out onto the chaise and skims through the whole pile, looking for any mention of Earl or Beau, or Emily. She soon finds two letters in Emily’s own hand:

_Dear Loretta,_

_I write to say Earl will no longer be in need of summer lodging. I hope you and yours are well._

_Regards,_

_Emily_

And another:

_Dear Mary Beth,_

_I am quite upset. Beau has run away and I fear I shall never see him again. If you get word from him, I beg you write me at once. I fear he will do something quite terrible if I cannot get hold of him straight away._

_Love,_

_Emily_

It would seem, Bonnie thinks, that the migraine remedy would have to wait.

***

The minute Mary Louise falls to the ground, the energy in the room changes. Instead of playfully mischievous eyes and mouths, the predatory nature of each individual comes out in full force. Damon’s once flirtatious smirk becomes animalistic and hungry. And there is no glint of humour on Nora’s face when her fangs descend and she fixes cold hazel eyes on Damon.

Within a second, Damon starts to fall to the ground, shouting with hands clutching his head. Pain explodes throughout his brain like land mines each being detonated by an invisible trigger. Through his narrowed eyes, he can see his brother lunge towards Nora.

She throws both hands forward, hurling Stefan into the wall on the far end of the room where he collides like a load of bricks, denting the drywall. Not even bothering to spare him a glance, Nora steps towards Damon with red sclera and raised veins around her eyes.

Meanwhile, Caroline grabs Val by the hair and the collar of her jacket. She throws her through a window, sending a shower of glass shards into the house.

“Not making that mistake again,” Caroline mutters.

“Am I the only one who hasn’t completely lost their bloody mind?” Enzo’s rhetorical question falls on deaf ears.

Damon grabs Nora by the arm, attempting to pull himself back to his feet. She pries his hand off with ferocity, then tosses him towards the ground even harder than before, shattering a kneecap. Before she can make another move, Enzo grabs her arm.

“Remember what Lily told you,” he warns.

Suddenly on his feet again, Damon right hooks Enzo in the jaw.

“Asked,” Damon coughs, laughter adding sparkle to his blue eyes. “Not told.”

Nora grins, but this time as if she’s in on a secret joke. Pushing her hand upwards, she raises a delicate brow until Damon feels heat and flame burning his mind. When he screams out and reaches for his temples, her smile only broadens.

““You have my attention now, Damon dear,” she teases. “I hope you’re happy.”

Enzo pulls Damon upright, tugging his right arm back far enough that the shoulder dislocates.

“That’s enough theatrics for one day, I think,” Enzo starts to pull Damon towards the door. “Nora’ll kill you, mate. It’s as simple as that.”

Stefan elbows Enzo in the face, breaking his hold of Damon.<.p>

“Nice one Stef,” Damon squints at his brother, Nora’s magical brain-melting spell just beginning to let up. The relief comes with the fear that she’s only stopped because she’s about to do something even worse.

“Nora,” Enzo calls from the ground, “You can’t hurt Lily’s boys. You know she won’t stand for it.”

“Who says we have to hurt _them_?” Val grins, suddenly standing in the foyer again. Scowling at Caroline, she spits out, “ _Sanguemos Fame._ ”

The scream Caroline lets out turns every head in the room towards her.

She crumples to the ground, her shrill cry pouring out of her mouth and filling the room. 

Nora even takes pause from tormenting Damon to cast her eyes with amusement at Caroline’s pain.

“What did you do?” Stefan shouts, torn between rushing to Caroline’s aid and tearing out Val’s throat, but choosing the former.

When Val only smiles, Damon makes to grab her.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Enzo gets hold of Val and snaps her neck.

Damon pauses in his own actions to give Enzo a suspicious look.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Nora screams, approaching Enzo with fury.

“Go!” Enzo shouts to Damon. “Now!”

In the space of a second, Stefan tosses Caroline over his shoulder and grabs the elder Salvatore by the crook of his arm, tugging him out of the Lockwood mansion and away from certain death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhhhh, enjoy


End file.
